


Curiosity

by Terminallydepraved



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Barebacking, Blood, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Emetophobia, Eye Trauma, Gore, Insanity, M/M, Marking, Outdoor Sex, Ownership, Rimming, Rutting, Violence, bestial nature, bloodborne au, collars and muzzles, feral sex, the Great Ones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 07:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 39,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4910527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There is nothing left of him but curiosity and a pair of eyes.”<br/>― Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> happy october everyone!! i keep seeing things about goretober being a thing and since i cant participate each day with something due to school work, i decided id just finish this fic over the course of the month. this isnt horrifically lore heavy and i dont think you need prior bloodborne experience to enjoy it, but just in case, if you have any questions about the universe or terms im using, please feel more than free to drop me a comment or an ask and ill explain! enjoy!

Waking up had never felt quite like this before.

He came to slowly, every muscle liquid in a poorly stoppered frame. His lungs were lead, his heart pounded like a hammer to an anvil. And yet he felt alive. Blissfully alive in a way that defied logic.

Chrollo couldn’t ever recall feeling so good, not in recent memory. Not since the sickness had struck him. Not since he had been told by all those around him that he was a dead man walking. He had forgotten the feeling of wellbeing. Of being able to breathe and exhale without pain.

Around him the building creaked, the ill-kept wood powerless to stop the wind from sneaking inside. An empty bag hung from a rack, the needle still in his arm. He pulled it free, not even wincing at the sting he knew he should be feeling. There was no room for pain, not from something so inconsequential. Everything felt too good to let it in.

“Hello?” he called out. Straining his memory, he fought to remember if he had come here alone. There must have been someone with him, certainly. He knew nothing of blood ministration but the empty reverberations gave him little other evidence to the contrary.

His eyes alit on a book near the blood-tinged apparatuses and he eagerly took it in hand. It felt familiar, felt personal, though he just couldn’t quite recall why. Flipping to the first page, he saw the hastily scribbled words written in an unfamiliar hand.

_‘Seek Paleblood to transcend the Hunt.’_

Paleblood? He looked to the traces of blood in the transfusion bag, to the vials and beakers around him. For all that he had heard of Yharnam’s intricate blood culture, he had never heard of something called Paleblood before. Nothing around him looked pale, nothing except his complexion in the reflective glass cluttering the shelves.

With shaky limbs, he slipped off the gurney, making his way to the door. The Hunt on the other hand, now that he remembered.

The price of the ministration. His disease cured, and in exchange, a new hunter added to the ranks. A voice aged by strife explained the sorry state of the city, of what nights like tonight entailed. Chrollo held the book tight and made for the door.

He made it all of a dozen feet before picking up on the sound of growling, the ominous clicking of claws against stone. A snarl pierced the quiet, a hideous snout visible from the doorway ahead. Chrollo froze. The beast did not.

Words could hardly describe the monstrosity before him but time seemed to slow down enough to give him a moment to try regardless. Its pelt was matted, its eyes hellish. A thick, goatish stink rose off it like a miasma, becoming overpowering as it lunged. On some level Chrollo knew that the beast had once been human, that anything could be killed, but in that moment he lived every nightmare he could imagine.

It was nearly on top of him when his legs found their strength. He threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the wicked teeth aimed for his jugular. The stone met him hard as he fell but he rolled, darted between the tables to gain distance. A weapon, an exit, he looked for anything that could get him out and far away from the jaws already drawing closer.

Another lunge and again Chrollo rolled, this time dropping beneath a stain-soaked operating table. The speed of the thing belied its size and he realized he couldn’t stop moving, not even for a second. A massive set of claws raked down his side as he sprinted for the doorway. It barely hurt, though from the adrenaline or the transfusion he couldn’t tell.

The beast let out a deafening howl and was on him in a second, just missing him as it cleared the room in one great bound. Rancid breath seemed to hit the back of his neck. Chrollo threw himself to the side, let the thing skid past him, too caught up in its own momentum to adjust. It bought him only a second but it was just enough for him to catch sight of something glinting against a wall. Something sharp. Something deadly.

It was the only chance he had and Chrollo ran for it. A blood-chilling cry sounded behind him, so loud it could only be inches away, and though his lungs burned for breath he refused to slow. Even as his hands closed around the grip of the weapon, he pushed forward with a last burst of speed before rounding on the creature, swinging with every ounce of himself that he could muster.

Ripping as it fell, the cleaver-like blade tore through the gaping maw of the beast with the deftness of an executioner’s axe. Chrollo wheezed for breath as he pulled, tearing the saw-edge from bone and cartilage and gristly meat. It screamed, shrill and so very, very human even as it leaped away, spraying blood as it shook the hurt from its mutilated jaws.

Chrollo didn’t let it recover. This time he charged, swung, shredding the haunch of the beast with a sawing swipe. Again, again, he swung and tore and ignored the pain in his side, the sting in his lungs, the shock of every impact jolting up his arms. It wasn’t easy despite the wounds mangling the fur of the creature with every stroke he made. The beast was only enraged and it gave back as much as it could.

Metallic and thick, the air seemed to grow heavier beneath its own weight. The room was bathed in blood by the time the cleaver sunk into the thing’s spine, the pull sawing through the nerves and tissue. It died with a gurgle of saliva and frothing blood at his feet and Chrollo fell to his knees, utterly exhausted. He wiped the blood from his hands as best he could and examined the strange weapon, found it could collapse into a smaller piece. There was nothing like it where he was from. Another of the many unique eccentricities of Yharnam.

He sat there, knees soaking in the mess while he caught his breath. At every noise, every wind-blown creak in the settling wood, he jerked, so certain that more of the same monster was lurking beyond the threshold. Eventually though, the blood around him cooled and he knew he had to move. The book had fallen from his grip in the first room and he went back for it, shouldered the saw-cleaver to flip through it as he walked. The courtyard outside was barren and he sighed, turning his attention more fully to the text.

Deciphering the cramped, looping script helped to distract from the stench of the city outside and the ache in his side. Coffins lined the streets, the chains binding the lids doing little to alleviate the fetid reek of decomposition. Though there were a smattering of corpses laid out along the cobblestone, so he supposed he couldn’t place all the blame on the intricately adorned boxes. Death and blood, the symbols of the city. He certainly hadn’t seen much to dissuade him from the opinion.

As he read though, he began to think there could be more. It took a few pages to realize what he had found.

_‘When the red moon hangs low, the line between man and beast is blurred. And when the Great Ones descend, a womb will be blessed with child.’_

Given the shaky penmanship and the wild sketches, the breathless tempo of the writing, he could surmise that it was more a journal than a book. He poured over the account of the author, unnamed but oh so fearful of the things just beyond his sight. He paid no mind to the corpses piled high in the gutters, the moaning and wheezing coming from within the buildings around him. The mystery of it all was heady, engrossing him in the wild web of the narrative easily.

He almost missed the man lounging above him on the rooftops, watching his every move.

“What do we have here? A lost kitten, roaming the streets?”

The book was lowered, his head raised. His mouth twisted into a put upon grimace as he caught sight of the red haired man smiling down at him. “…Hisoka,” he greeted slowly. Inhaling deeply, he prepared himself for the particular brand of exhaustion that he had come to expect from Hisoka.

Smile so wide it stretched the markings on his face, Hisoka cocked his head. “You are the last person I’d expect to find here, Chrollo. What serendipity.” With a flourish he stood, pulling out his blade from its sheath at his hip. He was beaming.

For half a second, Chrollo took it as a threat. They had a history, a long one filled with barely suppressed antagonism and constant duplicity. He wouldn’t have been surprised honestly if Hisoka sought to strike out, demand the fight he had always desired from him. His fist tightened around the handle of the cleaver.

It was then that he heard it. The moaning he had long attributed to the manors around him seemed to grow in intensity. Chrollo looked to his left, saw that a malformed body had disappeared from where he had spied it in passing. Realization hit and there was no time to move. Hisoka split his curved blade into two, dove from the ledge in a sinuous show of acrobatic skill. Chrollo didn’t even flinch as the man landed behind him, swords already buried in the flesh of a corpse not quite as dead as observation would have suggested. Blood spattered them both but the noise ceased, petering out on a thin whine before silence won out.

Hisoka flicked the blood from his blades and tsked, shaking his head in disappointment. “Sloppy of you, missing that. Don’t you know the dead are rarely what they seem here?” The blades were merged again as quickly as they had been split.

“I’ve learned this city is full of surprises. Including you. This is far from your usual hunting grounds,” Chrollo replied, relaxing slightly before the known threat. “What are you doing here?”

He had almost forgotten the precise note of bloodlust that always seemed to tinge Hisoka’s laughter. It was the most familiar thing he had encountered thus far. “Hunting of course. It is the night of the Hunt after all,” Hisoka gave, edging closer to Chrollo. “Though my prey is of a different sort.”

The look in his eye was anything but reassuring. Chrollo didn’t back away though, stood his ground as Hisoka grew near enough to feel his body heat. This was one aspect of their interactions that he had not missed.

“Something more than these beasts I’ve been encountering?”

Hisoka scoffed, rested his hand on his cocked him. “The mundane are hardly worth my time. Tell me, Chrollo, have you ever heard tell of the hunters of hunters?” he asked with a sharp smile. The distance between them was steadily disappearing.

Though Chrollo was from a land far off, it wasn’t as if he had never heard of the aspects unique to Yharnam. Hisoka, a hunter of hunters. It suited him, he supposed. Not much would be capable of sating the man. The opportunity to fight and hunt down specially trained hunters who had succumbed to the potent blood. It was simple to see how it would hold some measure of appeal.

Chrollo blinked, unimpressed, and looked up into yellow eyes. “I suppose we all have to find our calling.” Hisoka began to circle around him and he let him, unthreatened by the posturing. “Though you should consider thinning out the beasts’ numbers. I hardly think they make a good welcoming committee for the unsuspecting traveler.”

Strong arms wrapped around him, jostling the wound on his side. This close, there was no hiding the flinch from Hisoka’s sharp eyes. He chuckled against Chrollo’s ear, his voice dripping with mock sympathy.

“Did something wicked sink its teeth into you first?” he asked, trailing his fingers along the jagged edge of his cloak. “Let me help soothe the sting.”

Chrollo opened his mouth to retort, certain that it was more innuendo. He wasn’t prepared for a needle to be jammed into his thigh. The saw-cleaver and his book fell to the cobblestone with a clatter.

Hisoka merely tightened his grip and rode out his thrashing, shushing him all the while. “It’s alright kitten, just a little something to ease the hurt. Don’t worry, absolutely everyone does it.” The injector fell from his hand and Chrollo gasped as the torn flesh knitted back together. Skin crawling, he gripped Hisoka’s arms for support.

“What the hell did you just put in me?” Chrollo spat in between heaving breaths, turning to look into gleeful yellow eyes. Despite his anger he couldn’t help noticing how much better he felt, stronger and more alert.

Hisoka’s hands kept their wandering spirit through the acid. “Did you forget where you are, Chrollo? This city runs on blood. Is it so surprising that the hunters do as well?” Warm fingertips teased the hem of his shirt, dipped beneath to trace the raw scar still sticky with old blood.

Rolling his eyes, Chrollo untangled himself from the man’s grip. Hisoka let him go easily enough though his infernal laughter refused to cease.

“These streets are filled with all matter of devices and concoctions to help keep you breathing,” he continued, watching Chrollo pick up his things. Something in his voice changed. “Though breathing doesn’t necessarily mean well.”

Chrollo wrinkled his nose and brushed the street grime from his book. “Cryptic mumblings would do me worse than anything this city has to offer me.” Looking up with an impassive air, Chrollo stared the man down.

The man’s grin was as luminous as the full moon above. “What I’m saying, Chrollo, is that too much of anything can be bad. Blood, knowledge, curiosity— tread carefully.” He bent down and let his fingers dance along a sharp cheekbone.

When Chrollo pulled away, he couldn’t help noticing the red on Hisoka’s fingertips. It was probably smeared across his face now but he didn’t bother wiping it away. No need to give Hisoka the satisfaction of it. “As you are such a veritable fount of information,” Chrollo began, flipping through the pages, “have you ever heard of something called ‘Paleblood’?” He found the page with the message scrawled hastily upon the parchment, held it up to the sly eyes.

The smile on his face was answer enough. He had known Hisoka for long enough that he could tell when the man was fronting. Thankfully, Hisoka seemed aware of that.

“Do what you seem so fond of doing when in doubt, kitten,” he crooned, tapping the flat of his blade against his shin to watch the dark blood drip. “Look to the Gods. Try the church. I’m sure there is someone still coherent to ask wandering in those halls.”

It was such a simple solution that Chrollo was angry he hadn’t thought of it himself. Who better to ask than the order responsible for blood ministration? He moved to pull back the book, tuck it into a pouch when Hisoka grabbed his wrist. “What is it now?” he asked, patience all but evaporated.

At some point Hisoka’s smile had gone tight. He pulled the book, and therefore Chrollo, closer to himself. “Where did you find this book?” Hand trailing to the spine, he coaxed Chrollo to open it, letting him catch a brief glimpse of the contents. “This is dangerous reading for someone like you.”

“Someone like me? I feel as if I should be offended. What difference does it make where I found it? It’s just a book.”

This time Hisoka rolled his eyes. “Oh, darling. Curiosity killed the cat. There are things in this world beyond our ken for a reason. Don’t seek that which shouldn’t be sought.” He managed a lightning fast kiss to Chrollo’s knuckles before it was jerked from his grasp. “I would just hate to have to hunt you down.”

Chrollo glared, unimpressed and not threatened. “Goodbye, Hisoka,” he stated flatly, turning on his heel to carry on down the street. He kept his eyes open for the corpses in the path, mindful that they might not be what they seemed. Ignoring the laugh ringing against the cobblestone behind him, he paid no mind to the whimsical warning thrown at his back as he walked.

“I’ll be watching, Chrollo. Tread lightly.”


	2. Chapter 2

As loathe as he was to admit it, Chrollo was begrudgingly grateful for whatever it was that Hisoka injected. A part of him knew it was most likely blood, the way Hisoka had worded it suggesting that there was more to blood culture than just the healing blood given in ministrations, but the added agility and endurance he was experiencing far outweighed his disgust. His arms swung with a force akin to a lightning strike. Another beast bled out against the cobblestone, this time some sort of bloated carrion bird the size of a dog. He was big enough to admit that he would have been hard pressed to make it all the way to the church without it.

But as it stood, an extra set of blades would have suited him better. He was certain that if he had asked Hisoka would have agreed to accompany him. Chrollo wrinkled his nose, swinging into another mass of feathers that had writhed its way free of the undergrowth. The matter of payment though was something he could do without. There was little Hisoka wanted from him that he was willing to give. He resigned himself to hacking and sawing alone.

Traveling by the main road was slow going. The Hunt seemed to bring out all of the blood-mad citizenry, all armed and just far gone enough to cry “Beast” at any outsider unlucky enough to pass them by. It didn’t take an expert to see that they were too far along to save. Even the humanoid ones, still clothed and upright, snarled like animals, their eyes burning and their jaws snapping. Their fervor was pitiable. Their fear tinged their death cries human.

Chrollo avoided the mobs as best he could but found himself embroiled in more fights than he cared to enter. Each altercation left him soaked in a new layer of blood, the wetness now enough to almost seep through his thick cloak to the skin below. The pouch at his thigh quickly filled with the vials he found on the newly dead, injectors like the one Hisoka had held, some small bottles of a thickish blood labeled ‘ _sedative’,_ another couple filled with a burgundy blood that seemed to roil aggressively behind the glass _._ None struck him as safe to inject into his body, but if worse came to worst he figured it would be prudent to at least have the option. His steps left blood prints as he walked and he looked apologetically to the statues lining the entrance of the church. Stone eyes seemed to judge as he passed.

The heavy oak doors scrapped against the ground as he shouldered them open. Clanging and grunting met him the moment he entered, the wet _shlurk_ of honed steel rending flesh more than distinguishable. Chrollo swallowed hard but pressed on, cleaver extended and ready. He moved quickly but silently with body primed for any sign of movement or life.

When he came upon the main rotunda, the sounds of brutality seemed to swell. It was jarring, the din echoing like the focal point of a battlefield. Chrollo spied the source, took in the dozen gnarled beasts surrounding the giant of a man embroiled in the middle of it all. His garb placed him as a member of the Church and that was enough for him. Darting in, Chrollo hefted the cleaver in both hands and buried it in the skull of the thing nearest to the Father’s back.

It went down immediately. The surprise attack sapped any measure of defense the creature could have had and Chrollo didn’t pause to celebrate. Instead he rounded on the next, felling them one at a time while the man at his back tore through his own with surprising bloodlust. Out of the corner of his eye Chrollo caught the man injecting himself with blood vials, each fallen needle increasing his frenzy.

Chrollo made sure to keep his distance once the last beast fell. The man was breathing harshly, the air condensing with each powerful lungful. Brilliant silver hair was dulled with the blood covering them both and it only added to wild look of him. He looked sharply at Chrollo when he snapped the cleaver into its folded form, let out an animalistic growl. There was no way to read his intent. Thick gauze covered his eyes and it only set Chrollo more on edge.

It didn’t stop him from pursuing what he came for though.

“Are you a member of the Healing Church? I’ve come seeking knowledge.” He kept his voice level, didn’t show fear or unease. The man looked more beast than human with the way he tilted his head. The saw-cleaver’s weight was comforting in his hands. “My name is Chrollo. Can you help me?”

The deep voice that issued passed sharp canines was a growl, but still human. “There is no help in this city. Not from the Church. Not anymore,” he gave, pulling his axe from the meat of some beast at his feet. Bandaged eyes stared Chrollo down, pinning him in place. “Beasts rule the streets now. You’ll be one of them soon enough.”

Unsettling as that was, Chrollo refused to back down. “I don’t think that answers the questions I have. Let’s start with your name, if you would be so kind. I did aid you with these beasts surrounding you after all.” He took a careful step closer and put on his most winsome smile.

The man snorted but seemed to relax, if only a little. Chrollo startled when he shouldered his axe and strode towards him, but the man simply pushed past and made for the door. “I am Father Zoldyck and I have no help to give. Be gone, Hunter. Nothing but death awaits those seeking the blood.”

Irritation swelled and Chrollo grit his teeth, jogging after the Father whose longer strides already had him near the entrance. “I will not be brushed off that easily, Father,” Chrollo vowed, putting on another burst of speed to fix himself at the man’s side. “Not until I get my answers. Tell me, have you ever heard of something called Paleblood?”

There was no shift in Father Zoldyck’s gait to indicate the word held any meaning to him, but Chrollo wouldn’t discount it just yet. Anyone could hide their reactions given enough practice. They passed the statues lining the way, turned a sharp corner to the side of the church. A wrought iron fence opened with a clatter and Chrollo followed as he was led into the graveyard.

Father Zoldyck growled low in his chest and rounded on him. “Stop following me, hunter. I have no help to give,” he snarled, swiping at Chrollo a bit with his massive hand the way one would swat at a fly.

“Because you know nothing or because you refuse to give it?” Chrollo countered, side stepping easily. The man could hit like a brick but his swing was slow.

Chrollo could measure his growing anger in the animalistic growls. “Leave me be or I’ll put you down,” he threatened, stalking forward with intent. So much intent that he failed to see the cowed, stumbling figure dart from between the tombstones.

The infected thing, not quite humanoid but still far from bestial, lunged before Chrollo could cry out in warning. The Father whirled around, axe drawn but not fast enough. Twin sickles buried themselves into his thigh, ripping through the muscle when the Father jerked back. Chrollo extended his own weapon, ready to lend aid but froze at the ghastly howl rending the air. Blood ice, he met eyes with his companion.

The man was shuddering, breathing so deeply and quickly. A single eye was visible through the bandages that had begun to slip and there was nothing human left in what Chrollo saw. Sickles in hand, the creature went in for another swipe and it was over before it made it a foot.

Blood seemed to paint the mist around them as the Father roared, casting aside his axe to tear into the thing with his bare hands. Whereas before his teeth were sharp, his jaw now sprouted large, wolfish fangs. Chrollo didn’t need to be a native to see that the man was beginning to succumb to the blood sickness.

Creature lying dead at his feet, the manbeast turned its sights then to Chrollo.

“…Father?” he tried, pulling himself into a strong defensive stance. “Can you understand me, Father? It’s dead. You can come down now.” Nothing had suggested to him so far over the course of the night to give him the idea that there was a way to reverse the disease once it had begun to spread.

Cocking his head, the Father gave a rumbling laugh. The sound was unsettling and Chrollo took a step back unconsciously. “I can smell your blood, pounding beneath your skin,” came the voice, raspy and the worst kind of inviting. “It sings, oh how sweetly it sings to me.”

It was all the warning he got before he was fending off a brutal strike.

“Please, Father, snap out of it!” Chrollo blocked the hits as they came but the strength behind them quickly pushed him back. A jagged bit of stone caught his ankle and it was enough to unbalance him. He met the ground hard, losing what little breath he had to the fall and scattering his pouch’s contents among the brambles.

The Father was on him in a second. Chrollo threw up his weapon, used the shaft to hold the deadly jaws from his throat. He managed to hold the weight for all of a few seconds before it became all too clear he wasn’t getting free unscathed. Mind racing for options, he caught sight of something glinting in the grass beside his head. He knew in that moment that this was going to hurt.

Steeling himself, Chrollo stopped pushing. In the span of a second a sensation akin to razor blades stabbed into his shoulder, spilling blood and pain as the Father thrashed his head, ripping deeper and deeper. There was no hiding the pained cry but Chrollo kept his eyes open, blinked through the tears to throw out his hands in the direction of the glint. He prayed fervently, ignoring the irony of invoking God beneath the jaws of a priest. Cold glass met desperate fingers and there was no time to think.

The needle sank easily into the Father’s neck and the sudden attack had the jaws clenching, scrapping against the bone. Chrollo felt unconsciousness teasing in the blackness growing behind his eyes but he held on, let out a relieved sob when he felt the teeth ease their digging. The Father slowly grew boneless and with a painful shove, Chrollo managed to roll the man off of him. The empty glass injector clinked when it fell through his fingers, the _Sedative_ on the label obscured by the blood dripping thickly down his fingers.

Sitting up only made his head spin dangerously so Chrollo was forced to crawl to the other fallen vials, sort through the pile for an injector that resembled what he had seen of Hisoka’s. Gritting his teeth, he jammed it into his thigh, thumb on the pump. It felt like cold fire in his veins but within moments he could feel the bleeding in his shoulder stop. The muscle ached as it knitted itself together. Chrollo rode it out until he felt able to stand, took another few minutes before he tried walking.

Father Zoldyck was a passed out mass among the weeds clogging the aisles of the graves. With the toe of his boot, Chrollo tilted his head to the side, took in the bloody mouth. His teeth were still sharp, still vicious, but had retracted some from what he had felt buried in the meat of his shoulder. There was a risk that it would revert should he wake up. Chrollo bit his lip, hefted the cleaver in his hands. The ambiguous words from before, the chance that the Father knew something about the Paleblood echoed through his head.

Chrollo stayed his hand. He couldn’t take the risk. Glancing around, he took in the surrounding area, the tall fence enclosing the cemetery, the street just past the gates, the abandoned carriages and chained coffins cluttering the path. An idea began to form and he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

When the Father finally began to stir, Chrollo was seated and grinning on a tombstone across from him. It took a few moments for the man to realize his state, less time than Chrollo originally estimated but he held no fear, even when the man let out an angered snarl. Too bad it was half the power of before, the dark leather muzzle swallowing most of the sound as it came.

Tsking, Chrollo swung his legs. “I didn’t care much for your teeth before so I took some measures to ensure that you keep them to yourself. I hope you don’t mind,” he said as innocently as he could with the Father’s chain wrapped around his hand.

Instead of unbridled rage, the Father let out a threatening growl. “I will paint the streets in your blood. This is the worst mistake you have ever made.” He wrestled with the chains binding him and shot Chrollo with a deadly glare. The bandages had fully fallen from his eyes and their piercing cat-like blue was as sharp as his fangs.

“So you say. I think this might turn into a very fortuitous relationship,” Chrollo retorted, hopping off his gravestone to crouch in front of the bound priest. “You have information I want. I can keep you in line, since you seem one paper cut away from beasthood and I have the capabilities of pulling you back from that. How about it? Let’s use each other.”

Cobalt eyes narrowed and Chrollo smiled at the subverbal growl. “I will kill you,” he made out behind the muzzle, the venom in his eyes making up for what couldn’t be heard in his voice. “You are mine to kill.”

“I can deal with that,” he agreed, rising up out of his crouch to tug on the chain, coaxing the Father to his feet. “Come, we have a lot to talk about, Father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy second day of goretober! i prolly wont have a chapter done each day but its the weekend rn so ill see what i can do in between homework and birthday celebrations. i hope you guys like this, ngl this series is a lot of fun to write. welp, same as always, check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know how you liked it! until next time~


	3. Chapter 3

They had barely made it down the first street before Father Zoldcyk got difficult. The chain pulled taut and Chrollo, who had been walking at a fast clip, nearly stumbled with the suddenness of it. He looked back at the bound man, took in his vicious frown and the way he clenched his eyes beneath the brim of his hat.

“What is it?” he asked, closing the distance between them if the other wasn’t going to. “We haven’t got all night.”

The man’s lips morphed into a sneer, the barest glimpse of sharp canines visible through the slits in the leather. “There are lights,” he grunted, as if that explained anything at all.

It was Chrollo’s turn now to frown. “Yes. Streets tend to be lined with lights. I fail to see how that merits you planting yourself in the middle like a particularly obstinate gargoyle.” He tugged at the chain as if to emphasis his point.

“It’s too bright,” the Father grated, his teeth bared behind the muzzle. “I can’t see.” He tilted his head a little, just enough for the fallen bandages to sway against his neck.

Chrollo cocked his head. He had noticed some beasts, typically the more humanoid but not always, with covered eyes. Wide brimmed hats, bandages, scarves, even the flesh of a creature’s back; it had given him pause before when he had first set off to towards the church, but ultimately he hadn’t paid it much mind.

“Is that a symptom then?” Chrollo asked, closing the scant feet between them to reach for the loose wrappings. “Increased sensitivity to light?”

He didn’t get an answer but the man didn’t avoid his hands. Chrollo rose up on his toes, unwound the bandages to rewrap them around his closed eyes. As he worked, he carried on with his one-sided conversation.

“You know, this really isn’t that bad of a set up for you. The least you could do is answer me when I have questions,” he murmured, tightening the knot he had made. “For starters, you could tell me about your condition. Or yourself even. Where are you from? Where are you going? Do you have a first name or should I just keep calling you Father?”

Up this close, he could count the pointed teeth through the gaps in the leather as they came at his throat, pointlessly but still threateningly. Chrollo didn’t even so much as jump, simply continued on with his task.

“That was incredibly rude, Father. I’m only trying to help,” he admonished, finishing up the knot with a deft pull. Wrapping the chain around his wrist a bit tighter, he turned to keep them moving. It was gratifying when the Father didn’t dig his heels in like a stubborn mule and instead began walking with little insistence.

They carried on like that for a bit, Chrollo asking questions to the silent beast of a man behind him. The streets had calmed slightly, the freshly slaughtered corpses of the infected scattered about like so many puppets with cut strings. Another hunter must have been through, he thought aloud, prompting no response from his companion. He appreciated the boon it granted them. Chrollo hadn’t been looking forward to handling a mob all on his own, not with the Father bound up and muzzled at his back.

As he stepped through another pile of viscera and blood matter, the mess seeping deep into the leather of his boots, he decided that their quest could warrant a break. He looked around them, up at the houses standing tall and ominous. Windows were boarded up and dark without any sign of life within.

“Father,” he began, looking back at the man stomping through the gore with little care. “What say you to a little break?”

Of course he didn’t get an answer. Chrollo simply nodded as if he had and led them up the steps to a dark building. There was no indication that it was occupied, no lantern outside to signify survivors. Looping the chain around his elbow, Chrollo sank to his knees and went to work on the lock. He could feel Father Zoldyck’s curious eyes on him as he teased the tumblers into place with the lock picks he carried.

Within a few minutes they were in. The dark foyer was about as welcoming as anything in Yharnam to this point but Chrollo paid it no mind. Candles were scattered about the place and it was a simple matter of striking nearby match to illuminate their new accommodations. He noticed how the Father startled when the flame sprung up and he made sure to note it, ask about it later when the good priest felt more like talking.

Chrollo had never been inside a Yharnam residence before, his experience with their hospitality never quite extending that far. Everything was ornate, all velvet curtains and gold filigree that spoke of wealth despite the decrepit outer conditions of the city. He kicked off his boots at the door and looked to the Father questioning. The answering snarl was enough to tell him that no, he would not part with his blood drenched shoes. Chrollo rolled his eyes at the rudeness but let it go. He wasn’t going to fight him over that of all things.

Instead, he led them down the hall. “I figure we can rest here for a bit, get out bearings and plot out where to go next,” Chrollo began, turning over the pictures lining the shelves as he looked at the Father. “For instance, you can tell me what you know, I’ll do the same, and then we can go from there.”

The silence was beginning to really grate on his nerves. Sighing, he took them up a flight of stairs and picked a room at random. It was a bedroom, tastefully decorated in pale greens and lilacs. He wasted no time in stripping off his bloody cloak, his weapon following it to the plush carpet. The loud clank seemed to startle the Father as well and Chrollo turned his attention to him and his dripping silence.

“You’re a mess, you know that right?” Chrollo asked, coming over to him to take off the chains and muzzle. The Father stood stock still, no doubt shocked by the gesture. “Get clean while I do the same. I’d rather you not be miserable and filthy if I can help it.” The chains rattled when they hit the floor, the muzzle bouncing as he threw it onto the bed. With that done, Chrollo turned away and resumed shucking his blood-matted clothing, leaving the Father frozen and at his back.

He could feel his eyes on him as he cast off his ruined shirt, could feel them burning against his skin as he walked to the wash basin to wipe at the gore dried on his face and arms. “I’m not going to force you to clean up, but I’d highly recommend it, Father,” Chrollo gave as he washed his face.

“What is wrong with you.”

Chrollo almost startled, so use to the sound of his own voice. “You’ll have to be more specific.” He looked at the man, still covered in all manners of blood and flesh, and raised an eyebrow.

The Father growled and came at him. Chrollo didn’t so much as flinch, even as clawed hands wrapped themselves around his biceps with enough strength to bruise. “Do you wish to die? Is that what this is?” the man snarled, growing angrier with the absence of fear on Chrollo’s face.

Placing his palms on the man’s chest, Chrollo slowly pushed him away. The surprise on the Father’s face was enough to tell him that he wasn’t all that sure of the reasoning behind letting him. “Clean yourself up, Father,” Chrollo said quietly, guiding the man to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I am going to kill you,” he snarled. “Why are you doing this?” He made no move to stand back up.

Chrollo tossed a damp cloth to him and went back to his own ablutions.

“Tell me your first name.”

There was silence, heated and roiling.

“Silva,” he finally answered, the venom there but Chrollo suspected only for appearances. The Father, Silva, sounded tired. “Why.” It wasn’t a question, more of a demand.

Rubbing his own towel along his collar bones, once a bright white and now irreparably stained, Chrollo turned to meet the covered eyes.

“Because,” he replied. “I want to know everything.” He tossed the cloth down when he deemed himself as clean as he was going to get short of a full bath. “I’m going to look for fresh clothes. Get clean and wait here,” he ordered, already out the door before Silva had time to react.

The second floor seemed to be comprised mainly of bedrooms and he spared little time in tearing through the wardrobes. He found an assortment of women’s finery, the small articles of clothing that made up a child’s boudoir. There was no sign of the family and Chrollo didn’t think much on it. The house was his now, for all intents and purposes.

It was in the master bedroom that he found what he had been searching for. Brocade, riding garb, travel clothing; the assortment was astonishing. Chrollo sorted through the wealth and picked out the sturdiest of what he could find, taking with him what he felt could possibly fit and leaving the rest behind in a scattered mess. With his arms full of choices, he made his way back to the first bedroom.

Silva had done as he had told. A pile of soiled towels showcased the amount of built up gore that had caked his skin. There wasn’t much to be done about the tangled, bloody mess in his long hair but Chrollo noticed that it was now bound up into a high pony tail. The clothes were tossed on a section of the bed and Chrollo sorted through it, tossing the larger things to Silva and trying on the remainder for himself.

“Such excess in this place,” he observed, fumbling with the pearl cufflinks on the shirt he had chosen. He threw himself onto the mattress after calling it done enough and sighed. It was entirely too comfortable. “I hardly know what to do with myself.”

There was no answer but he was growing accustomed to that. Silva was facing away, pawing through the pile of clothes. Chrollo watched, kept talking.

“I am a thief you know. Or was. I hardly know anymore, with this hunter mantle thrust upon me,” he gave, pulling at the blankets bunched beneath him. “I hear scores come to this city, searching for cures but finding only beasts.”

Silence met him but he could tell Silva was listening. “I suppose I’m one of the luckier ones. I managed to survive the first thing that came at my throat. And the second. And the third.” He held up his hand to look at the pearl shining in the candle light. It was pale, like an eye filled with fire. “Have you heard of Paleblood?”

Silva couldn’t hide the tension in his shoulders, not with his shirt off at least. Chrollo watched him expectantly, holding his breath.

“You should return from whence you came,” he gave, lowly after a moment of nothing. “Fear the Old Blood.”

Chrollo wrinkled his nose. “I want to know everything. I want to know it all. I won’t stop until I’ve sated my curiosity, Father.” He stared at the covered eyes when Silva turned to look back at him.

“There is danger in what you seek,” he grunted, shoulders tense and posture angry.

Cocking his head, Chrollo could only smile. “Tell me anyway.”

The moment he sighed was the moment Chrollo knew he had won.

Shoving his arms into the shirt almost violently, Silva began to pace like an animal in a cage. “What you seek so foolishly,” his eyes cut to Chrollo on the bed, “deals with the Great Ones and their Kin.”

“You mean the Old Gods?” Chrollo asked, wracking his brain. He was an outsider, he had little reason to familiarize himself with the deities of Yharnam. He thought back to the scribbled words, the mention of the Great Ones desiring a child, desiring Kin.

“I cannot tell you all that you wish to hear. Search for the Great Ones and those who study them and you might find your answers.” There was an unspoken air of _if you don’t die first_ that weighed heavily in the air between them.

Chrollo hummed, crossing his arms behind his head. “Well then, I suppose we best be on our way,” he answered after a moment of rumination. It wouldn’t be hard to search out a place of study, not when the people of Yharnam embraced their Old Gods so very tightly. He rolled off the bed and shrugged on his new coat, made for the chains still coiled in the carpet.

A loud, threatening growl sounded behind him as he bent to pick them up. Chrollo sighed, rising up with the chain in hand to look at the priest.

“This is for your own safety you know,” he offered, striding up to the bristling man with little concern for caution. “I’ll even let you have your hands. You can suffer a collar for the sake of your humanity, Silva.”

The growling grew louder but Chrollo ignored it, rising up on his toes to loop the chain around Silva’s neck.

“I will kill you,” he spat through his elongated teeth, the fangs only inches from Chrollo’s face as he hooked the chain links into place. “Take me with you and your life is mine.”

The chain fastened into place with a sharp _clink_ and it resounded like the seal on a contract.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lotta fun stuff in this chapter. i hope you guys are enjoying this because let me tell you, this is probably the most fun ive had writing a fic in awhile. anywho, ive got some birthday shit i gotta go do but i made sure to get an update out today. check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know how youre liking this! until next time~


	4. Chapter 4

Now that Silva had the use of his hands, Chrollo found their pace greatly increased. He didn’t bother avoiding the denizens as they traversed the city, letting Silva tear into them while he focused on the book in his hands. There had been a moment of hesitation when he had pointedly stepped behind Silva’s bulk, Silva still overwhelmingly unsettled by the blind trust he placed in him to keep him safe. But there hadn’t been any issues, no purposeful openings made to allow one of the blood-maddened beasts to pounce while Chrollo’s attention was elsewhere.

Chrollo figured it had more to do with Silva’s insistence on being the one to kill him than any true concern for his safety. Regardless of the reasoning behind it, the rhythm they built between them served them well.

" _The Byrgenwerth spider hides all manner of rituals, and keeps our lost master from us. A terrible shame. It makes my head shudder uncontrollably_ ,” Chrollo read aloud, raising his voice towards the end to be heard over the screams of the dying. Silva grunted, signaling he had heard, and Chrollo continued. “What is Byrgenwerth?” he asked, looking to the priest. “I keep finding mention of it in this book.”

Silva panted and injected himself with a blood vial, closing the myriad of cuts and slashes he had won himself in the scuffle. “Forbidden,” the reply came, right on the tail end of a sigh as the blood did its work. “The Choir was there. Only evil things remain.”

Chrollo frowned at the cryptic reply and hummed, flipping through more pages. He lost himself for a moment in his reading, that is, until Silva began to growl like a dog on edge. Looking up, he took in the defensive stance and the lack of enemies in sight.

“What’s the matter now?” he asked, moving towards him. A mischievous laugh originating from the rooftops was answer enough. Sighing loudly, Chrollo moved Silva behind him, just in time for Hisoka to land gracefully on the cobblestone before him.

“Hello again, kitten,” said Hisoka with a bright grin. “I’m happy to see you’ve managed to remain unscathed.”

Chrollo rested his weight against the building next to him, arms crossed. “It’s been a rather eventful evening but nothing I can’t handle,” he gave back, shushing Silva’s growls when Hisoka drew closer.

Hisoka looked at him and then to Silva, head cocked and eyes unreadable. “I’ve been looking for this one. It won’t be much longer until he’s raving and feral.” The blade at his side was unsheathed and split. “You should keep better company, Chrollo.”

Behind him, Silva gnashed his teeth and pulled against the chain. Chrollo placed a hand on his chest and refused to move. “The company I keep is preferable to what it could be, Hisoka. The good Father and I have an arrangement. He is my responsibility.”

“Ah, Chrollo,” Hisoka crooned, taking another step forward, his blades shining wickedly in the light of the lamps. “Beasts don’t make good pets.”

“I think I should have reserved the muzzle for him,” Chrollo whispered loudly to Silva, pleased to get a surprised snort of laughter in response. Where his hand still rested, he could feel the tension minutely begin to lessen. “I’m not going to let you kill him, Hisoka. Be on your way, I’m sure the city is just teeming with others for you to play with.”

They stared each other down for the span of a dozen heart beats, but the blades were joined, sheathed. Hisoka closed the distance between them, ignoring Silva’s warning snarl.

“This is a dangerous path, Chrollo,” Hisoka whispered, close enough for his breath to tickle a pierced ear. “Carry on down it and it won’t just be the Father I hunt.” Again, he pressed his lips to his skin as if it was his right, this time on his cheek. Darting away, he narrowly avoided the heavy swipe of Silva’s angered swing.

“Goodbye Hisoka,” Chrollo grated, rubbing at his face as if the hunter had left a mark. The only thing staying Silva’s enraged hand was the chain still wrapped around Chrollo’s. For a passing second, he almost considered letting it go.

Hisoka’s laughter cut through the night as he waved, already slipping away into the street’s engorged shadows. Silva didn’t stop growling until he was completely out of sight.

Sighing, Chrollo ignored the pointed look fixed to his shoulders and instead tugged at the chain. “Come on, let’s get going. No point in resting on our laurels here.”

He was only somewhat surprised when Silva refused to move. Chrollo turned to face him, already knowing what the problem was. “Yes?” he asked nonetheless, still determined to get the man to use his words if he wanted something.

“You let him touch you,” came the reply, thick and gnarled behind sharp teeth. It didn’t take much to gather that Silva was angry.

“He tends to do that whether you let him or not.” Chrollo tugged a bit at the chain, hoping that that would be it. He wasn’t surprised when it wasn’t.

“You know him.”

Again, the anger still painted his voice. “We’ve had dealings in the past, yes.” He wasn’t eager to get into this in the middle of the street. Not when they had much more important things to be doing.

“Why did you stop him.”

That gave Chrollo pause. “Didn’t you say you were to be the one to kill me?” he asked, brow furrowed. “I’d think that’d be hard to accomplish if I just let him kill you.”

Silva’s sigh came out more like a growl. “You’re mad. Completely mad,” he finally gave after a moment of staring, his voice incredulous.

And with that Chrollo found Silva willing to move. He smiled and led them down the street without disputing the accusation.

There were many places in Yharnam that could be said to have hosted the Church. The city ran off of blood, as so many were fond of saying, and the blood was provided by the Healing Church. The organization pervaded almost every aspect of Yharnam life and that left Chrollo with dozens of places to begin his search.

They cut their way through the streets until they reached the Cathedral Ward. The spires rose above them and seemed to pierce the sky above like lances, their glistening facades reflecting like bloody dew in the light. Chrollo checked his book, looked around them until he caught sight of the wall separating Yharnam from the burnt out remains of Old Yharnam. With a nod of his head, he indicated their ultimate destination.

Silva grunted and they cleared the gate of what little life remained. Chrollo even deigned to help this time, pocketing his book to extend the saw-cleaver. The beasts had become progressively less human as they neared the division, bipedal manbeasts morphing into misshapen horrors seen only in nightmares. Their death-knells came from open maws in a tortured key, far too human sounding for the inhumanity of their appearance. Chrollo shuddered as one screamed from beneath his boot, silencing it with another swing of his cleaver.

Shaking the blood from his blade, he pressed on towards the bolted gate. Even from here he could smell the burnt ash, the charred stink of damp cinder from the rain the night before. He knelt on the cold stone, took the heavy lock in hand.

It clicked open after a few minutes of raking. Chrollo let it fall to the stone as he rose up. “If you’d do the honors?” he asked Silva, gesturing to the heavy metal gate.

Silva shouldered them open with a loud grunt and little complaining. The landscape beyond the border was exactly what could be expected of a city razed to the ground. Stone streets and ledges stood crumbling, blackened by the fire still smoldering beneath decades old rubble. Silva stuck close to Chrollo in a way that he was sure the priest wasn’t aware of. Chrollo had his suspicions on fire and the infected, thinking back to the way he had startled when he struck the match.

Slowly they traveled through the burnt out remains of the old city, taking down any wayward beast that had managed to survive the flames. It was a testament to the hunters of yore that there weren’t many to put down.

Chrollo wandered off while Silva handled the beasts, kicking through the piles of ash to search for anything of note. Bullet shells littered the wreckage alongside charred bones, all telling the story of the Hunt that had occurred long ago. Unease built in his stomach at the thought of what the current night could bring.

A scrap of paper caught his eye, buried in the crevice between a crumbling wall and the metal remains of a stage coach. He shot a look at Silva, saw him still tearing into some creatures that had crawled out from the ruins of what had been a storefront. Kneeling, he snatched it up and tried not to smear the parchment with more soot.

_"The red moon hangs low, and the beasts rule the streets, Are we left no other choice, than burn it all to cinders?"_

Chrollo swallowed and pocketed the piece before Silva could see that he had found anything. It wouldn’t do any good to remind him of the inevitability of his condition, the promise of flames. He wiped his hands on his trousers and sprinted back over to the priest, slashing down the last of the creatures near him.

“We should make for the Church here,” Chrollo stated, wiping the blood spatter from his cheek. He could feel the ash smear as he did so but he ignored it. “The Church of the Good Chalice. There’s probably something to be found within, if there’s anything left standing of the place.”

Silva gave him a shrug and Chrollo considered that an improvement, if nothing else. For once, Chrollo let Silva lead him. He had no map of this forgotten city and while he could see the tall peaks of the Church along the horizon, the twisted remains of the streets a mess for navigation. The Father seemed familiar with the area for one reason or another, guiding them through the ruined streets with a quiet confidence that suggested routine. Chrollo bit down on his lip and kept his questions to himself.

Soon enough the Church rose above them, ominous and looming like a shadow. It gave off a negative energy, setting them both visibly on edge but Chrollo pushed it aside, climbing the last few steps to force open the door. He could taste the secrets in the air around him, bitter and dry like the soot on his hands.

Chrollo could feel it the moment he stepped inside. Old Yharnam might be burnt and charred and blackened, but it was far from dead.


	5. Chapter 5

The Church was far more than just a church. Scattered throughout the space could be seen corpses, some already twitching at the sound of new life. Silva strode forward without prompting, hewed them down before they could so much as fumble to their feet. Chrollo let him do his sweep, taking a moment to examine a body near him.

The clothing was what gave him pause. The Healing Church had a very specific code of dress, one that hadn’t saw change in probably near a hundred years. These people, all strewn across the floor like so much refuse, hardly looked to be clerics. He stuck his hand into the nearest pocket and searched for something identifying.

It wasn’t until the fourth body that he found something telling. Inside an inner breast pocket he pulled out a polished metal emblem, an inscribed token of some long dead order. Resting on his knees, he waved Silva over.

“Do you recognize this symbol?” he asked, holding the emblem out to him.

Silva pointedly didn’t take it in hand, simply looked at it from where it was held. “Mensis. The School. More forbidden things.”

Chrollo sighed, growing tired of hearing that. “So these are all scholars then?” he tried, pulling himself to his feet. There probably wasn’t much else to gain from the dead around them. He spied a staircase leading down in the far corner of the room and he made for it, Silva’s chain in hand.

No response but Chrollo supposed it had been mostly rhetorical at that point. They descended the stone stairs, the air growing colder the deeper they went. A foul stench rose up to greet them and Chrollo pulled at the scarf around his neck, using it to cover his nose.

The source was readily enough found. Another body, this one propped up on a seat, was positioned at the bottom of the stairs. It had been tucked into a small cubby, the dripping walls encouraging the corpse to decompose and soapify. The stench grew worse as they approached but Chrollo was tenacious. He leaned his weapon against the wall, freeing up his hands to examine the dead scholar.

Silva, somewhere behind him, grunted irritably.

“Hush, we’re almost done here.” Chrollo bent down, picked up the fragment of parchment clenched in the corpse’s hand. It looked to be some supplication, perhaps a remnant of a prayer the scholar had penned in his final moments.

‘ _Grant us eyes, grant us eyes. Plant eyes on our brains, to cleanse our beastly idiocy.’_

Another growl, another clatter of the chains airing their discontent as he read it aloud. Sighing, Chrollo tucked the note into his book, lifted himself from the grimy stone to leave the catacomb. “Yes, yes, I hear you. Let us be on our way if you’re so ill at ease here.” The cleaver was cold from the still air and weighed heavily against his shoulder as he picked it up from where it was propped against the wall. Every step felt the damp of blood seeping into his clothes and he tugged Silva behind him, eager for the open air, even if the air above was thick with ash.

“We’re getting closer,” he murmured, sparing a glance at the beastly man. Silva was looking harried, uneasy at the overbearing scent of decomposition and embers. “The School was delving, they knew something. We just need to follow their trail.”

The streets weren’t much better, the air of death and ruin too much to provide a true escape from the stink of decay. Despite that, it was still better than the enclosed cloud they had been in and Chrollo breathed deep, let it wash him clean.

The Church had yielded enough and it was back to Yharnam for them. The desolate streets had taken on a foreboding feeling upon their reentry and it went without saying that it was time to leave. A far off howl, dark and not of this world rent the still air. Something was shifting in the old city and they had no place waiting around for it.

They cut through the streets quickly enough and made it through the gate with little issue. Whatever they had been feeling seemed to have scared off the beasts, clearing the streets of any would be obstacles. Giving out a sigh of relief, Chrollo watched as Silva returned the gates to their shut position, fastening the large lock back into place. Silva looked to him expectantly once the task was finished and Chrollo made for the center of town out of habit.

“So where do we go from here?” Chrollo asked, hardly expecting much of a response. “This Mensis School, they seem to know something of what I seek. A long dead academy dedicated to the unseen, they must know something. It couldn’t hurt to pay them a visit, see for ourselves what they have found.”

Shadows from above, a clattering along the roofs, signaled that it most certainly would. The telltale laughter announced his entrance and it was familiar enough at this point to prompt a sigh from Chrollo, a threatening growl from Silva.

Chrollo hardly reacted when Hisoka landed in front of him, grin luminous and blades glinting in the meager light. “Have you no better ways to occupy your time, Hisoka?” he asked, standing by impassively as Hisoka reached out, cupped his cheek to smear at the soot and blood marring the plane of his cheek. His touch seemed to rankle Silva, the growling growing louder.

“I couldn’t help but hear you, naughty kitten,” the words were purred, threatening more than just violence. “It’s as if you wish to taste my steel, with how quickly you rush towards the forbidden.”

Again the chains were tested and again Hisoka grinned. Chrollo pulled away from his grasp with a tired air, placing himself more firmly between him and Silva. “I can’t begin to imagine what you mean, Hisoka. We’re merely on a stroll, enjoying the fragrant night.” Silva barked out a ghost of a laugh behind him and Chrollo’s lips quirked, the barest hint of a smile.

Hisoka crossed his arms, cocked his head. “Oh goodness, if that’s all. My mistake, though I could have sworn I heard the name Mensis pass from your lips.”

“And what if they did?”

The grin turned flirtatious. “I would prefer your lips better occupied then.”

His line did nothing but send Silva snarling. Fangs gnashing, he made a move towards the colorful man. Chrollo snorted and pulled on the chain, considering the conversation over. “Enjoy your night, Hisoka. We have places to be.” They moved past the hunter, Silva growling all the while.

Making no move to stop them or follow, Hisoka remained where he was, leaning against the brick at his back to watch them go. A moue of consternation painted his face.

“I’m always watching, Chrollo. I’ll always find you,” he called out to their retreating figures, even as they made to turn the corner. “No matter what dark crevices you find yourself in your search.”

Chrollo didn’t reply or acknowledge the warning. He had so very many of them as it was. Instead he led them on, intent on his new destination. Turning to look at Silva, he smiled. “He’s not as clever as he likes to think he is. Did you catch where he slipped?” The smile on his face proclaimed that he had.

Silva huffed, his perpetual frown growing more pronounced even though his temper seemed to have cooled slightly. “He said nothing. He always says nothing,” he grunted, turning his head to the ground as they passed a bright streetlamp.

Chrollo tsked. “I’m disappointed in you, you’re much cleverer than that. He practically told us where to look. I’ll even give you a hint,” he schooled, mirth dripping off his being like the smeared blood trail on his cheek. “Where would you go if what you look for is ‘forbidden’?”

He only waited a moment, not long enough for Silva to answer if he was even wanting to. “You go to a forbidden place. What we seek is in Byrgenwerth.” Excitement thrummed through his body as he moved and he increased their pace, eager for the hunt.

Bloodlust rose off him in turn and Silva shook, gritting his teeth. The enemies that crossed their path were dispatched quickly, Silva tearing them to pieces as Chrollo cleaved and hewed. It took little time at all to navigate the fallen city, not with the blood carrying them forward one fresh corpse at a time.

The School rose above them as ominously as it could. Beasts littered the path, the forest spitting up more and more like a geyser from Hell itself. Chrollo released his hold of the chain, let Silva fight as he so pleased among the brambles and overgrown thorns. It was no better inside, once the grounds were cleared and the heavy oak door shouldered open. The moonlight spilling in behind them outlined the malformed shapes of the disease, bathed the creatures in a pale ink that cast their malignance into stark relief. Chrollo wrinkled his nose, stepped aside to let Silva charge forward into the dark.

He spun as he worked, using the weight of his weapon to build up momentum. Blood sprayed, bone shattered, flesh gave way to gristle and sinew. The bestial screams almost sounded human from the misshapen throats. Chrollo took a moment to observe the way Silva moved, how the death cries only seemed to excite him, his frenetic pace building until there simply weren’t any more jugular to rip, no more spines to sever.

As the last of the creatures fell, their withered arms outstretched as if praying, the way was finally cleared. Chrollo leaned against the wall, his cleaver dangling from his lax grip as he caught his breath. He looked to Silva who was still thrashing, still snarling at the cooling dead. Blood matted his silver hair and darkened his hands. The sight was awe-inspiring. Vindicating. He whistled and Silva came to him with no more than a snarl, let him wrap the chain around his wrist and carry on up the stairs to the floor above.

Every beast in the place must have perished in the altercation below. The hall was empty, as were the cloisters along it. They passed through them all, cursory searches lasting a few minutes before moving on. Chrollo insisted he would know when he saw it, that the knowledge would be apparent when they came upon it.

Halfway down the hall they found it.

The body was that of a scholar no doubt, the clothes reminiscent of libraries and studious minds at work but still reminiscent of what they found in the Church. But that was the end to the familiarity it held. Despite decomposition, the fetid remains held some spark of live about it. It was difficult to describe but it could be felt all too easily.

There was a book clutched to the hollow chest. Chrollo dove for it, ripped apart the skeleton’s hands to pry the bones from the vellum. Silva watched from the doorway as he poured over his find, an ear cocked towards the stairs in case of other bestial residents lurking in the shadows. He jumped when Chrollo spoke, his tone lacking the levity it usually carried.

“I can taste it, I’m so close to it now,” he mumbled, tearing through the tome with the frenzy of a madman. “It lies beyond my scope, teasing and just outside of what I can see. This is something, I can use this.” He dropped the book to the side, instead bringing his attention to the corpse at his knees.

“It’s all so simple.” _‘Madmen toil surreptitiously in rituals to beckon the moon. Uncover their secrets.’_ Pages fluttered to the ground around him and Silva took a step back, unnerved. Chrollo turned to him, pinning him in place. “I need more eyes.”

It rung with the finality of the dead man’s note.

Silva balked. “You need to stop.” His voice echoed harshly in the cloister but it fell flat.

There was no way to describe the answering laugh. It chilled more than the cold stone, unsettled like nothing else. Silva growled and tore at the collar around his neck, desperate to end the noise, destroy the source. Chrollo could only smile, expression as fearless and heedless as it was the moment they met.

He tore free the corpse’s skull, lifted it to his eyes to examine it closer. It had a strange aura about it, a thrum that transcended its inert state. Every part of it sent the instinct screaming in the base section of the beast’s mind and he thrashed, gnashed his teeth and spat for Chrollo to let it be.

“This is it.”

The skull crumbled in his hand, scattering in the fell wind like so much ash and dust. Chrollo breathed it in, let it all collect in his lungs and swell somewhere behind his eyes. Tingling, burning, the sensation of enlightenment. He had been searching for this and he refused to flinch away from the feeling.

Ripples formed, the walls seemed to fracture, fractals cracking and crawling and the very air splintering. It wasn’t until Silva began to growl in earnest, straining against the chains binding him that Chrollo realized he had fallen to his knees. Stale blood soaked his trousers and caked beneath his fingernails.

He turned, looked up at the imposing sight of a wild-eyed beast of a man. He could see the humanity in him yet, lying shackled behind the rags about his eyes.

Silva could not keep still or silent. “What is it? What did you do?!” The chains rattled and dug into his flesh.

Chrollo simply stared on, eyes unfocused and jaw slack. He cocked his head as if listening to a faraway voice.

“Chrollo! _What did you do?”_

“What’s wrong, Silva?” Licking his lips, he broke out in a mad grin. “Can’t you hear the baby crying?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of updates today. theres prolly around 4-5 more i think. i dont have the best idea of where this things going but were at the half way point here i think. check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know how you like this! until next time~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut happens. Enjoy!

What little ground they had gained was all but gone now in terms of communication. Chrollo paid the silence no mind, continued to ramble to the open air as Silva pointedly ignored him. Behind his eyes he could see the roiling shapes of the others, his ears picking up on unintelligible murmurings that chilled his blood but kept him going with an almost frantic energy. The School had yielded nearly half a dozen books and Chrollo wasted no time in leading them back towards the city.

Overhead the moon bulged. Treetops and brambles reached for the bleeding thing in vain but there was no hiding the brightness of it now. Chrollo kept his face pointed toward the ground, his head ringing with the eldritch voices whenever he dared look to the sky. He was jolted to a stop when the chain pulled taut in his hand.

“Silva?” he turned, taking in the man behind him. A cursory tug on the chain didn’t prompt further movement. “What’s wrong?” Silva’s bandaged eyes were fixed above his head and Chrollo bore the moment of dizzying clamor to follow his line of sight. His mouth fell open and the chain slipped through his fingers.

The sky above had bled indigo, the festering moon a livid, angry red. There was no trace now of the pale bone, all of it drowned in a sickly vermillion tinge. It was as if the sky had opened a vein and poisoned the very heavens with its sickness. Chrollo fell to his knees in an instant, the books his only priority now.

He tore through the first book before he realized that Silva was still transfixed, his eyes bolted to the blood moon above. By that point though, it was too late.

Bending metal ringed through the quiet of the forest and Silva snapped the chains with a low roar. His teeth were sharp, his fingertips deadly with inhuman claws. A loud howl rent the night and Chrollo could only watch as the humanity bled from his companion like the sky above.

‘ _When the red moon hangs low, the line between man and beast is blurred.’_

The words seemed to scream in the space behind his eyes. Chrollo swallowed and rolled himself so he faced the beast. His weapon was off to the side, thrown down in his impatience to find an answer to what lay above them. A tentative move of his hand towards his belt pouch sent Silva snarling, and within an instant he had Chrollo pinned. Leaves and underbrush crunched as he struggled but he knew that there was no escape. 

“Silva, please,” he began, turning his head away from the sharp teeth grazing along his throat. “You need to snap out of this!” The books were so close to him but there was no way to search for a solution to whatever frenzy the moon was feeding the Father. “I can fix this, I just need—” 

A savage swipe of his hand sent the books flying, the pages shredded in at least one of them from the brutal treatment. 

“No,” Silva growled, his eyes covered but their intensity not lessened in the slightest. “No more.” 

Eyebrows furrowed, Chrollo struggled against the iron-like hands bruising his wrists. “What do you mean ‘no more’? I’m not just going to stop my sear—” With a yelp he found his mouth covered as teeth and tongue invaded with all the grace of an animal out for blood. 

The taste of copper tinted the kiss red like the sky above and Chrollo was too confused to fight it. Silva seemed to rumble in his pleasure, laving his tongue along the cuts his fangs produced. Chrollo gasped as the attention moved to his neck, the strong hands releasing his wrists to tear messily at his clothes. With a single move Silva had him flipped onto his stomach, every nuance of struggle met with sharp teeth and increasingly animalistic growls. 

It didn’t take long for his body to catch up to the rhythm building between them. The first of his moans were muted, half swallowed whines that he fought to keep to himself. The grass and loam felt cool against his burning cheek where Silva had him pressed face first into the ground. His fingers clenched in the dirt as claws raked down his flanks, shredding cloth as they went. 

“Silva, wha-what are you doing?” Chrollo panted, bucking futilely against the hands keeping him down. This was marginally better than being torn apart in a pique of frenzied bloodlust, but this wasn’t Silva, this wasn’t what they _did_ —

“ _You’re mine,”_ Silva nearly hissed, sinking his teeth into the meat of Chrollo’s hip. He cried out and shuddered as a tongue licked into the wound.

His. Chrollo thought back to the look on Silva’s face as he took in the madman’s knowledge, the fear and anger on it as he slipped further away from their reality. The aggression towards the books. He found himself chuckling despite everything and it only made Silva regress more.

The sounds above him grew more bestial, almost all traces of humanity lost in the gravelly snarls. The hand shoving him down moved to his neck, forced his face into the ground harder while the other lifted his hips. His torn trousers were tugged down and tangled around his ankles, exposing him to both the cool night air and the beast hell bent on asserting himself. It was a hard thing, but he managed not to tremble under the weight of it all.

There was no muffling his noises when the sharp hand spread his ass and Silva licked into him. His entire body seemed to writhe against the hands holding him in place, the hot sting of the cuts only acting as a counterpart to the electricity racing along his every nerve. The tongue gave another pass and Chrollo let out a loud cry, couldn’t stop his hips from rocking back for more of the same. Silva was merciless despite his obvious want, releasing his neck to better hold him in place.

Grabbing at the grass around him, Chrollo fought for some measure of control. He shook with each wet, probing swipe of Silva’s tongue, keened so loudly that it reverberated among the trees when the tip began to press inside. The sounds were filthy and his face flushed, but it was too much to ask for him to be reserved as he was being opened up so wantonly.

Silva’s tongue was fucking into him when he finally broke down and began to beg. “Please, Silv—” he tried to say, voice cracking as the tongue went inexplicably deeper. “Oh, Gods, ple—”

The pleasure immediately stopped, Silva grabbing his hair to force their eyes to meet. “No. No Gods,” Silva spat, his bandages beginning to slip loose. “You are _mine_.”

Hearing it aloud did little but make Chrollo flush darker, moan louder. He bit the flesh of his wrist and shuddered, shoving his hips back as much as he could, given the grip on his hips. Silva let out a noise, so bestial it defied reason, but he could tell it was pleased at the submission. He was rewarded with the tongue returning, as eager as it had been before.

There was no lapping, no teasing swipes to drive him further towards the brink of insanity. No, Silva seemed to have lost all measure of patience. The tongue stabbed into him, penetrating and stretching. Somewhere, buried beneath it all, Chrollo could make out the rhythm driving it on. It fell in time to his heart, to the pounding whispers behind his eyes. To the pulsing moon above.

Chrollo screamed against his skin and could taste the blood rising to the surface of his wrist. He couldn’t ride the feeling like he craved, couldn’t bring himself to try and fight the hold keeping him in place. More pleas fell from his lips, slipping past his self-imposed gag. He was aware enough not to mention anything but Silva’s name. It wasn’t a hard rule to follow.

“Please, please, Silva,” he keened, doing what he could to spread his thighs wider. He begged and begged, not sure for what but wanting it all the same. “Silva, ple—”

A growl sounded in his ear, more jarring than the pleasure suddenly ceasing. “Say it,” Silva ordered, his voice so low and close that Chrollo could feel it rumble in his chest.

“Say wha—”

Again his face met the dirt, the hand on the back of his neck tight, punishing.

“ _Say it.”_

Chrollo whined, desperate for the stimulation to return. His fingers clenched uselessly in the grass, his body shaking beneath Silva’s searing bulk. He shut his eyes, choked on the breath in his lungs.

“I’m yours, Silva, all yours.”

Out loud, in the open, it rung of submission. But it didn’t feel like it was enough.

Slowly, glacially, Chrollo brought a single hand back. Silva made no move to stop him, only leaned back to watch his movements with hungry, heavy eyes. When he wasn’t stopped, he moved faster, fast enough to keep himself from thinking. Taking in a deep breath, Chrollo spread himself, his fingers slick and slipping slightly from the saliva still dripping from his entrance.

“Please,” he gasped, overcome. “Please, Silva, I’m yours.”

Silva was silent, frozen above him like a predator the moments before a kill, and Chrollo trembled beneath the hand still gripping his neck. He couldn’t help but jump when Silva leaned down, traced his lips and sharp teeth down his nape, taking in his scent. Warm breath condensed on his skin in the chill night air. Chrollo bit his lip. It wasn’t enough to smother the small whisper of a moan.

It was as if the noise had broken a seal. A snarl rang out, loud and threatening and enough to keep him motionless as Silva seized his thighs, spreading him impossibly wider. Chrollo wheezed into his arm, his head light and the voices cowed. Rustling clothes gave way to hot bare skin and he whined, desperate for what he knew was coming, the thrumming of the moon carrying him along to the beat of Silva’s inner beast.

There was no ounce of gentleness when he began to press inside, the way only eased by the work of Silva’s tongue before. Hips held in place and body kept low, Chrollo choked, sputtered, as he was forced to take every searing inch as quickly as Silva could give it. The man was mindless against his back, thrusting his hips with no control left to keep it slow. It was rough, it was brutal, animalistic, and Chrollo dug his fingers into the ground as he cried out for more.

He struggled to take in a breath, finding it forced from his lungs just as soon as it came. Silva was everywhere, his long hair fallen from his tie to curtain around him. Chrollo could see nothing but the silver strands, taste nothing but submission on his tongue, feel nothing but the weight of the animal rutting into him. There was no moon, no secrets, nothing in that moment. Just instinct and its need to bare its throat to the male holding him so tightly.

So he did.

It wasn’t remotely comfortable but his breath hitched when Silva seemed to shudder above him, his fangs skimming so very lightly against his jugular. Blood pounding in his ears, Chrollo made some noise, some whining, breathy sound of desperation and need, growing all the louder when the teeth nipped at his skin, leaving a mark. Silva’s tongue laved against the sting, teasing a bruise to the surface with a gentleness that was so very at odds with the insistent rhythm of his hips.

Chrollo could barely take it all, the overwhelming presence of Silva pressed against him, inside him, everywhere. The teeth moved to his nape, his shoulders, littering his skin with marks. His cries echoed around them, reverberating in the trees like the peals of a bell, coaxed louder and louder as he fell into a begging stupor. Every thrust of Silva’s hips stole from him another breathless “please”, every possessive mark left on him a wanton cry of Silva’s name. The beast above him relentlessly, greedily, took it all from him, demanding more.

His cries only grew louder when he felt Silva’s rhythm begin to stutter, the hands gripping him digging into his hips. Silva was snarling above him, groaning low and deep in his chest. He fucked him as he came, filling Chrollo with his release. Chrollo ripped the grass in his hands, writhed as best he could through the wet sensation. His own cock, hard and heavy, dripped with precome.

“Please, oh fuck, Silva,” Chrollo panted, trying to break free enough to finish himself off. “Please, let me—”

The grip on his waist held tighter, forcing him in place. Sharp teeth fixed themselves to his neck, threatening this time. Chrollo froze, his neck bared and his posture submissive. They remained like that for a few minutes, Silva slowly going soft inside him while Chrollo grew desperate, the risk and dominance only turning him on.

He was seconds away from begging again when Silva finally saw fit to move. Chrollo whined when he pulled out, the mess inside him slowly dripping down his thigh, and tried to bring a hand up to his cock only to be stopped yet again by a commanding growl. Choking on the noise in his throat, Chrollo brought his hand back up to where it had been, his shoulders beginning to shake from the need to come.

“Please, Silva, I’m yours, just,” he whispered, his unfocused eyes fixed to the gouged ground below. “I need it, please.” Chrollo let his body go boneless, hung his head as submissively as he could. The fingers on his waist tightened, rolled him onto his back. Chrollo let them, didn’t resist at all.

It was the first time they had really met eyes since this, this situation had begun. Silva’s eyes were uncovered, a piercing blue that did more to his mind than the whispering, bleeding sky above. Despite it all, Chrollo could just pick out the traces of humanity in the man, could see them lingering in the background of this bestial frenzy. He bit his lip and waited.

Silva stared down at him, took in the bruises and marks, the mess he had made of him, his still hard cock resting against his stomach. Chrollo couldn’t help but arch a little, anything to get some semblance of stimulation, and that seemed to spark Silva into motion. He clamped down on his hips, holding him in place as he ran his tongue down the side of his cock.

Chrollo cried out, his thighs shaking. He longed to force Silva down, wrap his hands in his long hair like reins and bring himself off. Instead he placed his hands above his head, ripped into the ground as if it would keep him sane. The tongue was almost teasing, tracing the vein before flicking against the head, collecting what drops of come it found there. Silva was warm, his body radiating heat like an open fire and it was the worst kind of torture to keep himself pliant.

His hard work didn’t go unnoticed. Silva hummed, more of a purr than a growl, and rewarded him with a hard suck to the tip, his large hand wrapping around the base to stroke as he licked. Chrollo could only shake, staring down as the Father took more of him into his deadly mouth.

All it took was the barest hint of teeth against his cock to have him coming. He cried out, his thrashing held in place by Silva’s hands as he came to pieces.

As his eyes closed, it was blue that dominated his vision.


	7. Chapter 7

He knew before he had truly come to his senses that he wasn’t in Yharnham anymore. The grass beneath his cheek felt soft, the air tickling his nose too pure. Cracking his eyes open, he took in the space around him, slowing his breathing to mask the fact he was conscious. Stiff fingers threaded through his hair, the scent of lavender as comforting as the touch.

“Are you awake, good hunter?” a quiet voice asked. The words fell like amber, their rounded accent a unique change from the harshness of Yharnam’s locals.

Chrollo held his breath for a moment, his lethargic mind struggling through the thick waters weighing him down. In the end he exhaled, rolling onto his back to look up at the stranger hovering at his side.

“Who are you?” he managed, his mouth dry. “Where am I?”

The woman, though he hesitated slightly in calling her that, smiled and cocked her china head. Her face was so expressive despite its painted porcelain. “Welcome to the Hunter’s Dream. I am the one created to guide you on your way.” Again her cold fingers passed through his hair, the articulated joints tinkling together like wind chimes.

As comforting as it was, Chrollo forced himself to sit up. On some level he knew he should be feeling the effects of before, the pain and ache that accompanied. He glanced at his exposed skin, saw that his clothing was untorn and his flesh unmarred.

“Why am I here?” he asked, maneuvering himself to his knees. “I was in a forest, the sky was—”

“Red?” the Doll finished, her smile as coy as her voice. “You have awoken, and I in turn have awoken. Over time, countless hunters have visited this dream. The graves here stand in their memory. It all seems so long ago now..." She trailed off, her gaze drifting to the weathered stone markers lining the clearing they were in.

Chrollo bit his lip and looked to the sky above. There was no blood red sky, no swollen moon ready to burst forth. Somewhere, a brook babbled. He couldn’t help but ask more, desperate for information.

“Can you tell me why the sky bled? It was so sudden,” he said, his mind torn in a hundred different ways. Heat, fear, intrigue, abandon—

The Doll spoke, and the din settled.

“The Vacuous one,” she explained. “Eyes have been closed while others have opened. I can see that you have experienced the latter. The Hunt is at its apex and the Moon Presence is growing.”

Some measure of his confusion must have shown on his face, but she offered no more. He focused on the names, told himself to search for them once he was back. “Can you help me?” Chrollo rubbed at his eyes, craving some sort of stability despite the serenity around him. He had grown so use to the sticky feeling of blood that to be clean was disorienting.

“I can see the echoes in you, the ancient blood calling out.” Her clothing whispered as she stood, hooking her delicate arm with Chrollo’s to guide him up the hill. Rugged cobblestone paved the way. “I can channel them, bring their power forth.”

She sat at a ledge overlooking the small hill and paddock, her thin hands folded in her lap. “I don’t under—” Chrollo tried, his mind struggling to keep up. The air here was listless, the kind of drowning felt only in dreams of pleasant things. Nothing could exist here but peace. He found his insistence stifled, his urgency smothered.

The Doll hushed him, motherly and as calming as it was meant to be. “Let the echoes become your strength. Let me stand close. Now shut your eyes..." she gave, guiding him to his knees. Cool fingers covered his eyes and it was simple really. Like drifting away to a lullaby.

It was such a marked difference from the skull that he almost jolted. He had braced himself for the pressure and jarring cold. This though, this was warm. Light. Like coming home. Strength seemed to thrum through his veins and ignite something within. He covered the Doll’s hand with his own, leaning into the touch as he fought to ground himself within the giddy feeling.

When he finally pulled away, he could only smile up at the kind face. “Thank you,” he breathed, rising from his knees. He let himself rest on the ledge beside the Doll, taking in the quiet peace with a new appreciation. The weight of the Hunt had bled away, his body filled with new life.

She inclined her head, her silver tresses glinting in the light. It was beautiful, and Chrollo frowned at the thoughts it provoked. He could hardly imagine what was occurring in the real world. How much blood had marred bright silver. Picking up on his mood, her hand rested on his arm.

“Is something the matter, good hunter?” she asked, voice alit with concern.

Chrollo sighed. “I don’t want to leave this place,” he admitted, crossing his arms. “I can’t taste blood in the air here. It feels pure. Like home.”

The small smile on her face told him that that was the intention. “You may remain as long as you wish, and return as often,” came the quiet reply. “I am here to aid you all that I am able.”

“Have you heard of Paleblood?” he tried, ignoring the way her hair glinted and how his eyes searched for blood among the silver, as if it could transcend the boundaries of the dream. “Of the Church and its secrets?”

"Hunters have told me about the church. About the gods, and their love. But... do the gods love their creations? I am a doll, created by you humans. Would you ever think to love me? Of course... I do love you. Isn't that how you've made me?"

The honesty was raw in her voice and Chrollo didn’t know how to reply. He tried again.

“I seek to know. To learn. I long to stay but…” he trailed away for a moment, let his voice wander off while his spirit fought to linger. “I have too much waiting for me to remain.”

The decision didn’t seem to surprise the Doll. She smiled softly and nodded, as if this were simply the way of all the hunters before him. Taking in the gravestones around them, it wasn’t unlikely. She gestured towards the path. “Follow the way and light the lantern,” she instructed, her other hand still lightly touching his arm. “Return to your mission with care.”

Chrollo rested his hand over hers for a moment, his heart clenching with uncharacteristic sentimentality.

“Farewell, good hunter. May you find your worth in the waking world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait guys, this month has been insanely busy for me with school and getting ready for youmacon. ill try and have more up this weekend!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we might be heading towards a silvachrollo/hisokuro love triangle sorta deal, i hope thats ok.

Cold glass, round and insistent, greeted him when he slowly came to awareness. Whatever it was, he could feel it against his cheekbone, a hard and almost painful pressure. With a groan, Chrollo dragged himself to rest on his elbows, fumbling for the drained blood vial with sleep-clumsy fingers. He stared at it, rolled it in his hand, and tried to remember when he would have taken it. The bed beneath him creaked as he shifted and with a startled jump, he belatedly noticed the unfamiliarity of his surroundings.

Heart pounding, Chrollo threw himself upright. The room was old, dusty, a hint of char licking the edges of the space’s framework. Completely unfamiliar and far from the forest where he had last been. A quick glance down at his person yielded bloody, torn clothing, his skin below unharmed but raw. The raised, reddened sight looked like scratches, as if they had come from clawed hands.

Memories flooded back with that realization. Hot breath, sharp teeth, the low voice so intent on its claim; Chrollo fell back into the pillows, his face burning at the thoughts. It certainly made sense, he mused somewhere in the part of his mind still retaining its ability to reason calmly. Silva wouldn’t have just left him out in some forest, helpless to any beast that may find him, kill him. He had demanded the right himself, the half-healed marks littering his body proof enough of that.

He took a few moments to let the heat bleed from his cheeks, instead focusing his attention on the room again. Chrollo had the how of his present situation, but not the where. Obviously the traces of fire damage indicated Old Yharnam, though why Silva had chosen here of all places was beyond him. He could remember Silva’s aversion to fire, the strange familiarity he seemed to have in the old city streets. Rolling onto his side, he took in the empty blood vial beside the pillow. He wondered why he had bothered to tend to his wounds.

Eventually he grew bored of the walls ignoring his questions, the need for answers a gnawing pressure that refused to abate. With a languid stretch, Chrollo threw back the blankets and rose to his feet. His weapon was conspicuously missing, as were his books. The coat he had taken from the manor was draped over a shoddy desk, one of the few pieces of standing furniture in the room. Gathering it in his arms, Chrollo approached the door. He paused for a moment to listen against the wood, but pressed forward after hearing only silence in the hall outside.

The moment he exited the room, the growling started.

It was startling, the sound sending a newly conditioned jolt through him as he froze in the doorway. Across the hall rested Silva, his teeth still sharp and eyes sharper. Chrollo forgot to breathe for a moment, but the sight of the wet blood seeping sluggishly into the wood around him brought it back quickly enough.

Without a second thought, Chrollo crossed the space between them, throwing down his cloak to pull and tug at Silva’s. “Why didn’t you heal yourself?” he asked, tone hotter than the glare Silva leveled him with. “You idiot, were you planning on bleeding out while I slept—”

Silva snarled, the thick cloth pulling painfully at the scabbing gashes. It had slowly begun to coagulate, ripping and bleeding anew as the cotton was dragged back, taking the half-healed mess with it. “Out,” Silva managed to grunt, hissing despite the care Chrollo attempted to exert.

“Out?” He ripped apart his scarf and began to apply pressure. From what he could tell through the mess, Silva hadn’t even bothered to clean the wounds. “I’m not leaving if that’s what you’re trying to get at.”

Glaring, Silva grit his teeth through the pain. “I’m out of vials,” he tried again, this time actually succeeding in spitting out a full sentence. “Are you okay?”

The sudden concern had Chrollo fumbling through his ministrations. “Me? I’m fine, worry about yourself,” he couldn’t help but snap, the amount of blood a bit worrying as it began to stain his hands. He grabbed Silva’s left hand, moving it to hold the compress in place so he could stand up. “This isn’t working, I need to go find you a vial, some water at the very least.” It was hard to keep his voice steady, but he forced it into place.

Silva stayed silent, his eyes focused sternly in the corner. The lack of argument seemed to only hammer home just how bad the injury was. “Be careful,” Silva muttered, his skin pale and waxen. Chrollo took it as permission enough and didn’t spare him another look, only pausing to grab the saw-cleaver half hidden behind Silva’s bleeding bulk.

Darting from the battered house, Chrollo ran onto the streets. Outside as he was, he could all too clearly smell the soot in the air, the ruin around them. He didn’t recognize the area or the buildings around him, but could make out the peaks of the cathedral just over the stretch of crumbling rooftops. There wasn’t likely to be anyone in Old Yharnam left to ask for help. He set to finding the beasts instead.

As he ran he took in the surroundings, his eyes lit with new sight. He hadn’t noticed it before, back in the closed off bedroom, but out here, in the open air of the city he could see. They sky above still bled red, though the whispering din had quieted to a muted murmur. The air vibrated, undulated like heat waves hiding something still unseen. Through it all he could still pick up the faint sound of a baby’s cry.

He longed to lose himself to it, to take it all in and parse out the words behind the mist, but he pushed it aside and ran faster.

The streets were empty though, and no matter the clatter he made as he moved there seemed to be no creatures within sight. Bodies were strewn about, converging in piles here and there, but they were all empty pocketed, long since dispatched and looted by some other hunter keen on their mission. Growing desperate, Chrollo turned his focus instead to finding a well. If nothing else he could clean and dress the wound, make a stopgap measure until they came across something better suited to helping it long term.

Swearing at his own uncertainty, Chrollo picked a direction and pushed forward, ignoring the heaviness in his limbs. Despite the blood vial, he couldn’t say he was feeling completely healed himself. Silva must have used their supply up, carrying him to safety. He must have saved the last one for Chrollo, even though his own injuries were no doubt much more serious. The thoughts hammered against the confines of his skull, much louder than the sound of his boots pounding against the crumbling, burnt streets. Every lane looked alike, every turn yielding only more ash and guilt. He tripped over an uneven brick, his lungs heaving.

“You look like someone who just had an experience,” an all too familiar voice crooned just as strong hands seized him from behind. “Been sticking your nose into things better left to rot?”

Chrollo yelped as he was pulled back, falling into Hisoka’s open arms. He struggled, despite his breathlessness, but found his arms pinned to his sides. “Let me go!” he demanded, though with his lungs burning it was hard to sound forceful. “I don’t have time for you, Hisoka!”

Hisoka laughed, his warm mouth brushing his ear. He only held him tighter. “How rude. No time for me but plenty to spare for that beast.” Nuzzling his neck, Hisoka hummed as he caught sight of the half-healed marks no doubt covering Chrollo’s neck and collarbones. “And just look how roughly it treats you. I’d be much kinder, though you try my patience so.”

Freezing, Chrollo turned his head to look Hisoka in the eye. “You would?” he asked, choosing his words carefully. “Why?” He went as far as to bite his lip, slowly letting the fight ease from his body. Before long he was nestled in Hisoka’s arms, Hisoka pulling him even closer.

“I’ve always wanted you, Chrollo. You vex me and spite me and always do as you please. It’s intoxicating.” His lips brushed the skin of his neck, taking in the expanse that was usually hidden beneath the scarf now currently stemming Silva’s bleeding. “I can see it in your eyes. You’ve done something you shouldn’t have. Are you trying to run from the doors you’ve opened? I don’t think even you could run fast enough.”

As always, Hisoka was a perfect combination of cryptic and seductive. His hands had slowly begun to migrate down Chrollo’s body, moving to his hips with obvious purpose. Chrollo bit the inside of his cheek and slowly turned in his arms. Yellow eyes looked down at him with evident heat, expectation heavy.

“I need your help,” Chrollo managed, relieved that his voice didn’t seem to carry with it the acid he could feel burning in this throat. He braced himself when the hands easily pushed aside the hem of his tattered shirt, shivered as they traced the still-sore scratches. “Please.”

“Finally realizing you’re in over your head, Chrollo? What could you possibly need from me enough that you’d ask so nicely?”

It was then that Hisoka began to kiss his face, trailing his mouth along his cheek and jaw. Chrollo let him, only flinching slightly from the surprising gentleness of it. For some reason, he had expected teeth. “I need that blood, the kind you gave me before,” he gasped, cut off by a teasing nip to his ear. The hands were burning against his lower back, dragging them flush together. He could hardly register that they were embraced and petting in the middle of a ravaged city, the cries of beasts carried lightly on the wind. Hisoka was far too good for that.

“A blood vial?” Hisoka asked lightly, dipping his fingers below Chrollo’s waistband. “Did something hurt you? You don’t seem all that injured.” He punctuated his observation with a heated look, eyes cutting through the rips in his clothing as easily as knives. “Don’t tell me you’ve developed a bad habit while off with that beast.”

Chrollo swallowed, determined. He threw up a lazy smile, rose up on his toes, and brought himself to Hisoka’s ear. “What does it matter why? I’m willing to barter, Hisoka.” Rolling the name as he spoke, he wrapped his arms around the redhead’s neck.

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Barter? I wonder what you think I’d want in exchange. What’s it worth to you, Chrollo?” The grin on his face was luminous, predatory in a way that sent a shiver down Chrollo’s spine.

“What do you want?” There wasn’t much else he could do but ask. Knowing Hisoka, he’d drag the demands out as long as he could if he thought it would be fun. At least twenty minutes had passes since he ran from the house. Silva couldn’t wait much longer, not with the amount of blood he had lost, how much he was losing now, waiting for Chrollo to come back.

Hisoka’s hand, gloved but still so warm, cupped his cheek, his thumb stroking his lips. “What indeed. I could ask for anything right now and I’m fairly certain you’d give it.” There was a laugh beneath his words, a delight in the obvious bind Chrollo had found himself in. He moved in for a kiss and smiled when Chrollo didn’t pull away.

The kiss was gentle, far more so than Chrollo would have ever expected from the hunter before him. Tentative brushes, a soft tongue to coax open his mouth, and Chrollo moaned, not protesting in the slightest when Hisoka deepened the kiss. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but compare it to the night before, to Silva’s dominating nature and the sense of being devoured that came with it.

When Hisoka pulled away, Chrollo followed.

“Ah ah,” he chastised, holding Chrollo in place easily. “I think I’ll give you what you want.”

“What?” For a moment, Chrollo forgot what he had even asked for. He tugged against the grip, pressing their chests together as he sought more of what Hisoka’s mouth had seemed to promise. “You will?” he asked, breathlessly and hazy.

The hands pulled away, leaving him cold. “I think you’ve a pressing need to take care of,” Hisoka crooned as he presented the glass vial with a magician’s flourish. “Perhaps I’ll collect my payment later, when you aren’t so preoccupied.”

Chrollo took the blood and fought to bring himself back to the present. “Later?” he asked, pocketing the glass vial and reclaiming the distance Hisoka had taken from him. It was only somewhat difficult to be bitter about the whole thing, the teasing and denial. “What if I run away? How will you get what you want then?”

He wasn’t prepared for Hisoka to close the gap again, kissing him with an intent so much more poignant than the one before. It was hungry, promising and filled with intent. It left Chrollo gasping when he broke away, the air stolen from his lungs like the life from a dying creature’s eyes.

“Did you forget, Chrollo?” Hisoka breathed against his mouth, his smile tangible in the air between them. “I’ll always find you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry ive been neglecting this fic, ive been so pressed for time lately and it took me awhile to figure out where i wanted to go from here. i only really planned up to the sex scene and i kinda surprised myself with how much plot i was working in so now that im about to go on break and have done some plot building, we should be good now for somewhat regular updates. thanks for bearing with me! check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) for updates and the like. until next time~


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Chrollo managed to pull himself from Hisoka and muddled his way back to the house, far too much time had passed. The ringing of bells, routine and untouchable despite the carnage below, signaled that over an hour had gone by. The whispering and muttering grew louder in his head as they chimed through the perpetual night, the pressure seeming to encourage whatever it was to speak up. He clenched the glass vial in his hand and quickly tore up the stairs, concern almost enough to drown out the voices conversing behind his eyes. There wasn’t any time to waste on parsing out the meaning, not when he could see the trail of blood on the landing, painting out Silva’s path.

He had moved himself while Chrollo had been gone, the blood a smeared snail’s path. Chrollo followed it, pausing at a gore-covered room that he hadn’t noticed before. The house was larger than he had initially thought and he spared no time in knocking, instead throwing open the door.

It only took two steps to reach Silva, who had seemingly passed out before making it to the bed if that was indeed his intended goal. Chrollo reached out to him, his fingers touching the pale expanse of his face. Silva’s skin was fever hot, bone-white despite the burning dryness. He made no sound when Chrollo rolled him onto his back, didn’t even flinch when he unceremoniously jabbed the needle into his thigh. Chrollo held his breath as he thumbed the pump, injecting the healing blood.

Like always, the effect was immediate. Silva’s eyes shot open, a loud groan cutting through the tense silence. Through the rip in his sleeve, Chrollo watched as the torn flesh knitted itself back together, the gruesome wound leaving only a ragged scar behind. Carefully, he touched the mark, testing that it had indeed healed all the way through. There was no move to stop him. It didn’t seem as if the vial had cured the blood loss, if the pronounced paleness of Silva’s face was anything to go by.

“Hey, take it slow,” Chrollo said softly as Silva began to force himself upright. There was a tremor in his hands against the floor, a shiver that could be felt where they touched. “You need to recover a bit more. You lost a lot of blood.”

Just as he had expected, Silva was anything but a model patient.

“I’m fine,” he grunted, rolling onto his side as he tried to stand up. He made it to his knees before another bout of shaking sent him off balance. Chrollo seized him by the shoulder, keeping him up but only just.

Chrollo scoffed and helped him to the bed. “I know what blood loss looks like. You need to rest, replenish. We can spare a few hours,” he reasoned, forcing the much larger man onto the mattress. It was a testament to how weak Silva was that he could hardly offer more than a token protest.

Instead of arguing, Silva grit his teeth, narrowed his eyes. Chrollo took in the room around them, saw how the light from the outside came through the gaps and holes in the walls.

“Are you able to see?” he asked, reaching out to cover Silva’s eyes with his hand. “You must have lost your bandage before. I can find you a new one.”

He wasn’t prepared for his hand to be smacked away.

“Don’t.” Silva pulled away as much as he could, his teeth bared. It wasn’t all that threatening given his state.

Chrollo frowned. “You’re already weak as it is, Silva. I hardly think you should add light blindness to the list.” Looking around them, he checked for something that could be torn into bandages. The material needed to be sheer, dampening the light but still allowing Silva to see. He caught sight of a curtain buried beneath a shattered dresser and rose to grab it.

Silva snatched his wrist though, preventing him from leaving. Silence rang through, like a bell.

“You going to let go?” Chrollo eventually asked, after a few moments of nothing. Silva refused to look at him, his glare adding to the scorch marks decorating the walls. His grip tightened slightly.

“Why didn’t you run.”

There was no inflection, a question asked like a statement in a way that was so patently Silva that Chrollo couldn’t find it in himself to worry. Instead, he sighed and sat on the mattress beside him.

“Because you needed help. Did you want me to leave you?” he asked, scooting closer when Silva tried to put space between them. “Did you think I had?” The grip on his wrist remained firm, as if he feared Chrollo disappearing.

He could tell by looking at his face that Silva wasn’t going to answer his questions. There was a pregnant pause. Chrollo, growing tired of the wait and weary from the frantic mood from before, fell back against the mattress. The ceiling was just as battered and bruised as the city around them.

Silva finally met his eyes. “You should have. After—”

Chrollo cut him off there. “Stop. Don’t start down that road. You weren’t in your right mind and neither was I.” He pulled at his wrist and used it to grab Silva’s hand. “It surprised me, but it wasn’t all that unwelcome. I could have done without you shredding my books though.”

His attempt at humor didn’t make much of a dent but it seemed to lighten the mood a little. Silva let him play with his hand, tap at the long claws still sharp and prominent. “Are you— did I hurt you?” Silva asked, his body tense.

Humming as he took inventory of his body, Chrollo stretched and felt the pull in his muscles. “I think anything grievous was fixed by that vial you gave me before. I’ve some interesting marks, a few sore muscles. Beyond that though, nothing of note.” He pulled at his shirt and waistband, showcasing the half-healed imprint of a hand on his hip. “What I want to know is why you bothered using the last of the vials on me when you were nearing death’s embrace. I would have been fine, it was nothing even remotely life-threatening.”

It took a moment for his chastising to reach Silva, his unbound gaze fixed on the bruised handprint. Chrollo narrowed his eyes, took in a slight hitch to the man’s breathing. There was definitely still something of the beast lingering within. He covered his skin and the spell seemed to break.

“I hurt you,” was his only reply. The tension had returned to his shoulders, the guilt heavy in his features. “Nothing else mattered.”

Chrollo’s eyes went wide. “Well, I appreciate your consideration. It’s certainly better than you demanding my head,” he remarked, a bit overwhelmed. “But I think I’d rather not wake up to you staining the floorboards with your blood. Don’t do it again.”

Silva rolled his eyes and sagged into the mattress, his stubborn energy finally seeming to run out. Chrollo took that as a signal to make himself useful.

“Now that you’re done self-flagellating,” he began, easing himself up, “I’ll leave you to sleep. Let me know if you want some water, I can go find some.”

At this point, it wasn’t even surprising when Silva grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. “Where are you going.”

Back to the statement-questions. Chrollo sighed. “I was going to find my books, if you even brought them with us,” he answered with a put-upon air. “Is that not allowed?”

Silva responded by growling, surprising Chrollo. “No, it’s not.” His grip tightened, giving the only warning before Chrollo found himself dragged back onto the bed. “Those books are dangerous. You’re staying here.”

“Excuse me?” Chrollo shot back, his voice barbed. “You’re half-bled and barely able to stand. How do you plan on keeping me here?” Struggling, he fought against the hands that held him down. No matter what he said, Silva was still far stronger than him, even in his weakened and drained state.

And just like that, Chrollo found himself rolled onto his stomach, Silva’s familiar bulk keeping him in place as easily as a child holding an unruly kitten. Sharp teeth met the back of his neck and the response came naturally, immediately. Going lax, Chrollo whined, knowing that he wasn’t getting out of the bed until Silva decided to let him.

“Stay and behave,” Silva ordered against his ear, pulling the blankets up to cover him. He brushed the hair from Chrollo’s glaring eyes, his own laughing. “I like you better when you aren’t arguing with me.”

Frowning through his blush, Chrollo hid his face in the dusty pillow. He would get his books back, one way or another.

After all, Silva had to sleep sometime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day isnt productivity amazing children? who knows maybe theres a third in me im pretty awake from my nap. anyway, blahblahblah tumblr (terminallydepraved), leave me some comments and the like, i live for the breadcrumbs you feed me. until next time~


	10. Chapter 10

Chrollo made his escape a few hours later, slipping out of Silva’s hold as carefully as he knew how. The blood loss from before seemed to have sapped the man of his strength, knocking him out hard the moment he let his guard down enough to fall prey to the enticing beckon of sleep. Carefully, he crept across the room, snatching up his weapon and belongings before closing the door behind him. There was no telling for sure how long Silva would be out, but this would more than likely be his only chance to retrieve his books.

As he exited onto the street, the bloody moon above sending his head throbbing, he set out for the forest as best he could given his lack of bearings. Silva had chosen a rather removed area to set up base. The buildings were a far cry from the opulent ones in the central city, the burnt out husks hardly still standing. They made for poor lodgings but allowed him to see past the ruined skyline of the city, glimpse the sight of gnarled branches in the distance. It graced him with a direction and Chrollo took it, one eye on the trees and the other on the streets around him.

Just as it had been before, he heard no sounds of the beasts, saw no trace of anything hiding behind the crumbling stone structures. The city seemed dead, drained of life like the desiccated corpses occasionally lying prostrate on the brickwork. It set Chrollo more on edge, like the sensation of peril that seemed to invade when birds stopped singing before a storm. He gripped the handle of his saw-cleaver tighter and walked faster.

The forest rose above him after an indeterminable amount of travel, just as ominous as it had been upon his first visit. Black branches spread like dead veins against the red canvas of the sky, the moon a swollen blight overhead. Shivering in the chill wind, Chrollo racked his brain for the path they had taken before, looking for landmarks that would guide him to the likely place they had stopped. Silva probably hadn’t even bothered to move the books in his fervor to tend to Chrollo. They were likely still laying in the grass, pages bent and possibly shredded by the rough treatment dealt to them and Chrollo both. He tried not to concentrate on that line of thought so much, the flush on his cheeks burning despite the cold pervading the shadowy landscape. In that way lay madness.

So he marched on instead, sharp eyes tracking his progress and his mind resolutely focused on the here and now. The forest was treacherous enough without distraction. Slowly, he began to encounter the beasts that had been absent from the old city. They came at him sporadically, the frequency increasing the deeper in he got. Mutilated humanoids with snakes instead of faces, tendrils of writhing tentacles dragging themselves across the undergrowth, the beastly remains of those who had dwelt within the forest’s depths; through the narrow trails he cut them down, intent on reaching the clearing. Blood soaked his clothing, matted his hair, and with each swing of his weapon he felt himself draw closer to his goal.

Arduously he progressed, leaving a path of corpses in his wake like proverbial breadcrumbs. He made sure to check each for supplies before moving on. The worst thing he could do was run out like Silva had while on his own. He couldn’t depend on backup if something were to happen, not so far from any sign of civilization. Kneeling, Chrollo pocketed the handful of vials he found. A knot of anxiety sat tight in the pit of his stomach. Something, be it intuition or just instinct, told him he couldn’t be too careful out here.

The feeling didn’t dissipate, only grew tighter and more insistent when he finally found the clearing. For some reason the wind had stopped blowing, taking with it every ounce of noise. His breathing was deafening as he slowly approached the pile of books, the loose pages caught on brambles but still near their tomes. Even the crisp parchment was silent, only breaking the oppressive weight when he reached down to free it.

Though warning bells sounded in the back of his mind, he saw nothing and heard nothing to give credence to his fears. Biting his lip, he gathered the books and sat down with his back against a tree. It was a little bit more reassuring, enough so that he felt comfortable opening the first of the books. The Doll’s voice echoed in his head, the words she had spoken within the dream reverberating like the peals of a bell. The Vacuous One, the Moon Presence, the ever reoccurring theme of eyes; there was so much he didn’t know, so much he had to learn.

Stiff parchment crinkled as he flipped through the pages, his eyes skimming through the looping script. This book appeared to be a text book or something similar, some kind of guide for those studying within the School. There was no mention of a ‘Vacuous One’ or anything similar, but there was mention of a spider again.

_"The spider hides all manner of rituals, certain to reveal nothing, for true enlightenment need not be shared."_

Chrollo sat the book back down in his lap, his brow furrowed. This again, this Byrgenwerth spider kept appearing. He pulled his knees to his chest and bit at his knuckle, thinking. There had to be a link. Repetition suggested relevance and there had to be more to it. Flicking through more pages, he stopped at a section that was written differently, the handwriting furtive and jagged in a way that could only be caused by fear. Chrollo felt his heart seize somewhere in his throat, painfully. 

_"The nameless Moon Presence beckoned by Laurence and his associates. Paleblood._ "

It was the first instance of Paleblood he had seen outside of the first journal, and right next to the other phrase, the Moon Presence. Dropping the other books to the ground next to him, Chrollo scanned the page in a frenzy, desperate to learn more. The silence around him narrowed into a fixed point, his full attention on the book and nothing else.

He should have known better than to forget his surroundings.

A sharp whistle, the sound of the air being cut by a swinging object was as loud as a scream in the unnatural quiet of the forest. Chrollo jolted as a huge weight came crashing down on him, the fetid scent of stale blood and rot invading his nostrils like a physical blow. The momentum of the thing was insane, knocking the very air from his lungs as it sent him flying. With a sharp thud, Chrollo slammed into the base of a far tree, too stunned to even think of picking himself up let alone going for a weapon.

Head spinning, he forced himself to roll onto his side as the attacker’s footsteps slowly grew louder, narrowly avoiding another swing of the bloody burlap bag. It crashed into the ground only inches from his face with a wet noise, the stink intensifying as the creature dragged it back for another attack.

Chrollo spat out the blood in his mouth and cursed through the pain, crawling away as fast as he could while cradling his ribs. Every breath sent pain through his frame. He prayed they weren’t broken. A wall of air hit him from behind as the bag connected just inches from his legs, knocking him off balance. The ground met him with little comfort, jostling his ribs.

“Fuck,” he gasped, the word ripped from his lips as he threw himself back, facing the thing as he dragged himself out of range of another blow. It was tall, monstrously tall, its size made all the more disheartening by the death shroud hiding its features from view. Hands as white as a corpse’s wielded the bloody body bag with ease, its strength immense despite its sedate pace. Chrollo shuddered as it prowled forward, unhurried and so controlled in its movements.

As it towered above him, hand outstretched and reaching, Chrollo froze like a rabbit cornered. A tree met his back, hard and immovable and with a ragged breath, he shut his eyes as the bag came down with a whistling shriek.

Pain blossomed like a rose against his side, encompassing his entire body as he slammed into the ground. He skidded against the dirt, the rocks and brambles cutting him up. Blood coated his tongue, black painted his vison, and clinging to the last threads of consciousness, Chrollo felt his ankle grabbed, the wet chill of burlap against his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUN ahahhaha im having fun with this, so much that youve no idea. ill try and get some more of this out this week because ive got a good grip on what i want to do for the next few chapters. anywho, check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and see you next time~


	11. Chapter 11

Pain greeted him the moment he came to, his head ringing with it and a bestial snarl.

Alarm filled his thoughts, working past the blurry vision and aching sting of his body to force him upright. The panic only increased when he found his limbs trapped, held against his body by a sick membrane. Cold, wet, and flexing as he struggled, Chrollo fought the sack around him in a singular, instinctual need to escape. His breath came short, the stink of rot and death filling his wheezing lungs and it was liking dying, like drowning in tar. The snarling grew louder and even it couldn’t cut through the haze of fear pulling him deeper into the asphyxiating darkness.

A large hand grabbed him by the neck, digging familiar claws into his skin hard enough to feel like teeth. Chrollo froze his flailing, his body going limp as he was ripped from the sack and pulled into strong arms like a kitten held by its scruff. The shock was too strong for him to process much beyond the warmth around him, the pain shooting through his ribs with every rough touch too much to bear. Black peppered his sight and the impulse to succumb to its embrace was so tempting.

“—ollo...Chrollo!” the voice faded in, sharp and cutting. “Stay with me, you bra—”

“My books.” It came out as a gasp, quiet and pained and more than he could really manage but the urge was too strong, his need too much to simply ignore. “I— I need them, please.” Chrollo curled deeper into the arms, registering the familiar scent of Silva before he recognized the man himself.

With an angry growl, Silva readjusted his hold. “What you need is self-preservation. Do you even understand how close you came to dying?” he snarled, his voice threading in and out of Chrollo’s comprehension. Despite his anger, Chrollo felt him dip down, felt the pain of the books being shoved into his battered arms. Sensing his muddled confusion, Silva snarled again. “If I leave them you’ll just do this again.”

Even though his lungs were on fire, Chrollo couldn’t help but laugh. It was choked, broken, but the certainty in Silva’s voice was too much to handle with his nerves as tattered as they were. “Thank you, Silva,” he managed to force out, blood running down his chin. He tried to lift his hand to wipe it away, gave up when he couldn’t find the strength. It was going to stain Silva’s shirt, he thought errantly. He wondered if it would show through the other bloodstains.

The tree branches passed overhead like the legs of spiders, crawling and clinging to the sky. Silva was livid, his heart beat pounding in his chest hard enough for Chrollo to hear through his own labored breathing. For a moment or two, he tried to match it.

“Did you kill it?” he whispered, clenching his eyes shut. Nausea took root in his stomach at the memory of the thing, the putrid stench of the sack lingering in his hair and clothes. Chrollo buried his face in Silva’s chest and breathed, desperate to wash the nightmare away.

Silva tightened his grip, whether unconsciously or in response to his clinging it was impossible to tell. “Yes,” he answered after a few moments of silence. “You’re fortunate. It would have taken you had I been any later.”

Chrollo shuddered violently at the thought, enough so that Silva nearly lost his grip. As it was, he met the ground gently, Silva setting him down to avoid dropping him. “What…what was that _thing?_ ” he spat, his hands rubbing at his face as if to wash the creature’s visage from his eyes. The shaking set his body burning, his ribs blinding, but he couldn’t seem to relax.

Silva crouched in front of him, took in his shattered state, before jamming a needle unceremoniously into his thigh. Instead of more pain, a numbing wave seemed to wash over him, forcibly calming his rattling frame like a blanket smothering a fire. Chrollo sighed despite himself, sinking into the comforting fog. So this is what it was like, taking a sedative. He didn’t even flinch as Silva took out another needle, this one definitely a blood vial, and pricked him again. He wrinkled his nose as the grass tickled his skin. When had he laid down, he wondered as fingers carded through his hair. It was so much easier to breathe now, the air so smooth and sweet.

“It was a body snatcher. It prowls and hunts and takes its victims,” Silva explained, his voice a lilting wave lulling him deeper. “To where, I don’t know. Do you see how fortunate you are?” His tone was still angry, accusatory and frustrated, but the hand in Chrollo’s hair was gentle despite it all.

Chrollo could only mumble, sinking deeper into the ground. He wanted to burrow into the leaves around him, lose himself in the comforting scent of decaying foliage and moist earth. Warm hands stroked down his back, tightened under his arms to lift him up and away and he was helpless to fight them, even as he groaned and tried to twist away.

The effort was fruitless and Silva hefted him easily, settling the stack of books into Chrollo’s limp arms as best he could. “Stop fidgeting. You got your books. Now settle down.” There was a measure of defeat in his tone and Chrollo couldn’t help but laugh.

“Silva,” he murmured, rolling the name across his tongue. “Silva, who is Laurence? I read—”

Silva cut him off with a bit of a shake, the most he could do with his hands full. “No. No more. You nearly threw away everything for this mad scheme of yours. If you want answers you won’t get them from me.” His pace seemed to speed up as his anger built into a crescendo. Strong hands clenched tighter to Chrollo as if he feared him disappearing.

Chrollo huffed and closed his eyes, tightening his arms around the books on his chest. Everything felt like warm cotton, soft and muffling every sense he had. “I’ll try harder, in that case,” he breathed. “There are others I can ask.”

He should have known better than to treat Silva to a threat, especially in the state he was in. With the serum keeping him relaxed, there was no way to be frightened when Silva growled in his ear, close enough for him to feel the elongated tease of his deadly teeth against his skin. Claws pricked his flesh where they held him and with a shake Silva forced Chrollo to look him in the eye.

“You’re mine.” His voice was low, snarled and beastly like it had been before when the sky first bled. “There are no others. There will be no others.”

Chrollo reached up to touch at the cloth binding his eyes from sight, smiling at the fabric. The old curtain still bore some signs of dust and ash, but he had used it nonetheless. “So you took my advice after all. I’m glad. Can you see clearly?”

“I see an incorrigible brat,” Silva snapped. The branches overhead began to thin out, the sky opening back up as they crossed the edge of the forest. “If you leave my sight again, it will be you wearing the chains.”

“Fair enough.” Laughing tiredly, Chrollo could only curl deeper into the man’s arms, hold tighter to the books in his own. The open sky made his head pound so he shut his eyes. “Fair enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woot woot this was a fun bit. i really do love body snatchers, if you guys arent familiar with them totally look them up. hands down my favorite enemy in the game. im hoping to have some more content out over next week since my finals schedule is p light. we'll be seeing some fun stuff next. anywho, as always check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know how you liked this. until next time~


	12. Chapter 12

True to his word, Silva was increasingly vigilant of Chrollo’s movements. It was almost comical, watching the beast of a man hover like some sort of overly attached matron every time Chrollo so much as deigned to stand without prior announcement. The notion of stretching his legs or leaving the Old Yharnam safe house was met with a stern look, any physical attempt with a growl and, on one occasion, sharp teeth against the back of his neck.

As it stood, Chrollo found himself largely confined to the bedrooms, his growing collection of books spread out on the bedsheets around him the only diversion he was allowed, and even that was only just. He flipped through a tome, this one a small handbook of Choir ritual rites. Silva chuffed in displeasure, watching from across the room.

“Are you going to be bitter forever? I think I preferred you when you wanted to kill me,” Chrollo snapped as Silva made another noise, this time a subverbal growl when he had jotted down a note.

Silva bared his teeth and didn’t move from his spot guarding the door. “I’m going to kill you.” His tone was defensive, affronted almost. Chrollo laughed and sat up from his lazy slump to raise an eyebrow. At least arguing was still a permitted form of exercise. 

“Do you now? You’re behavior lately doesn’t seem to support that,” he quipped, resisting the urge to cross his arms. No need giving Silva more of an excuse to call him a petulant child. "The lengths you go to keep me safe and sane, I can hardly imagine you going through with it."

“We’re not having this conversation.” Antagonism and defensiveness rose off his form like heat, bleeding into the room's atmosphere. 

Frowning, Chrollo turned more fully toward the man. “Then let me go outside. You can’t just expect me to sit in here forever.” With Silva being so obstinate and withholding, there was no other way to seek context for the information he was gathering. He needed to find a scholar, or even just Hisoka.

The look on Silva’s face said quite plainly that yes, he could in fact expect him to stay. “The last time you went outside, you were shoved in a sack. You aren’t leaving my sight.” There was anger in his voice, underlying the growl.

Chrollo could have growled himself. Instead, he pushed the books aside and stood up, trying to use the height difference to his advantage. “Then come with me and hold my hand, I don’t care. I’m going to go mad staring at these walls.”

Silva wasn’t all that impressed, if his raised eyebrow was any indication. “You’re already mad,” he grunted, settling himself even more stubbornly against the door. "Sit still and behave. You got your beloved books. That's the only concession you get."

Frustration rose like a bitter taste and Chrollo sank to his knees, putting himself at eye level with his jailer. Anger and outbursts wouldn’t help, not here. Silva would just laugh, call him a brat, and let him wear himself out trying to move him. There was still an ache in his limbs, some pervading reminder of the close call from before. He wasn't going to be able to use force, not if Silva had decided to oppose him. Looking down at his hands, an idea slowly formed. 

If he wanted to get his way, he’d have to make Silva want it too.

“Please.”

It was obvious that Silva wasn’t expecting something like that, with the way he stared. Chrollo pressed closer, biting his lip. His hands lightly rested on the man’s knees. “Silva, please. Please take me outside,” he begged, leaning into the priest’s space when he wasn’t immediately pushed back down. His mind flickered back to Silva’s eyes upon him, the heat as he looked upon the bruises his hands had caused. Chrollo bared the back of his neck, submissively. 

A quick sound, Silva taking a harsh breath, let him knew he had found a weakness in the impenetrable defense. He pressed harder.

“I’ll let you lead. I won’t leave your side,” he promised, staring imploringly into Silva’s bound eyes. With a slow move, he coaxed a clawed hand into his own, brought it up to settle on his throat. “Put a collar on me, please. Just take me outside, I can’t take it in here anymore.”

The hand tightened against his skin, slowly and instinctual. Chrollo leaned into it, held him by the wrist to keep him there. The sound of his breath hitched, restricted and deafening between them. 

“What if you’re lying?” Silva asked, his voice rough and low. His other hand fixed itself on Chrollo’s hip, fingers overlapping the marks he knew to be just beneath the thin cloth. “I don’t trust you to stay.”

Chrollo could hear the waver in his words, the sound of him considering it. He was almost in the man’s lap now and he pouted. “I’m yours, aren’t I? Where else could I go?” he reasoned, letting the hands move him as they pleased. His own, small and delicate on the massive beast below, lightly rested against Silva’s chest. “Silva, please, take me.”

He yelped as Silva suddenly stood up, knocking Chrollo back onto the floor in an indignant heap. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply, his posture tense and tight as he stared down at the hunter.

“You will wear the collar.”

It took Chrollo a moment to recognize it as a question, and he tried to resist the impulse to smile. “Yes, I’ll wear whatever you demand.”

“You won’t leave my side.”

“If I do, you can sink your teeth into my throat and never let go.”

Silva grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him to his feet in one strong motion. “I will,” he promised, his fangs sharp and resolute in the dim light. “Don’t give me the excuse.”

The urge to laugh was too much to deny and Chrollo chuckled as he wrapped his hands around Silva’s, his fingers hardly able to span the width. “Thank you,” he breathed, smiling at up the beast. “Thank you, Silva.”


	13. Chapter 13

The chain locked around his neck, loud and heavy within the quiet room. Chrollo exhaled, leaning into Silva’s hands as they fussed with the links and assured that the bond was strong. “It weighs more than I expected,” he mused, his eyes flicking up to covered ones. He couldn’t read them through the fabric, but the tense rigidity of his shoulders was telling enough.

“Would you rather stay in?” Silva asked, even as he took the chain in hand and supported the weight. “I can take it off if you’ve changed your mind.”

Chrollo laughed as he raised his chin, letting him tighten the chain a few more notches. “I can bear it,” he promised, pulling Silva by the hand eagerly towards the door. “Come on, lead the way.”

The man went easily enough, the length of chain wrapped soundly around his arm. There wasn’t much slack to it. His distrust still ran deep but Chrollo kept close, walking with his sleeve brushing Silva’s leg. It would be hard enough to break away as it was. He couldn’t risk adding more obstacles to the list.

Outside the city stood as it had before, ruinous and dead, but after hours of being shut up Chrollo still rejoiced in the fresh air, the feeling of wind through his hair. He stretched on the front steps, ignoring the eyes staring at him with thinly veiled distrust.

A gentle tug on the chain refocused his attention, Silva picking a direction and guiding him down the street. His strides were long, quick, and Chrollo had to jog a bit to keep up. Silva didn’t want to be outside and it was apparent that he wouldn’t allow for a leisurely stroll.

They turned down a random side street and it was then that Chrollo began to put his hastily complied plan into action. Winding his arm through Silva’s, he rested his head against the man’s shoulder. “I appreciate you putting up with my request,” he let out quietly, looking up at the man through his lashes. “I know I’m not the easiest to handle.” As he spoke, he lessened the pace slightly, bringing them to a slow, languid walk as gradually and imperceptibly as he could. He scanned the rooftops nonchalantly.

Silva didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in hearing him apologize to mark the pace slowing. “You’re a handful, a brat,” he replied, pointedly holding the chain tighter and Chrollo closer to his side. “You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep on like this.”

“So you’ve said,” he sighed, turning his attention towards the other side of the street. He spoke a little louder, let his footsteps fall a little heavier. It wouldn’t take much to bring the capricious hunter to them. He just needed to lay the bait.

The distant sound of bells colored Silva’s grumble, enough to make Chrollo perk up.

“Then why don’t you listen?” he ground out, leading them down another street and towards one of the many churches. “How many close calls must there be before you stop?”

His words were angry, pointed, but Chrollo wasn’t listening. He panned the skyline, caught sight of Hisoka on a near ledge. Humming, he mumbled some response, sending Silva off on another diatribe. The hunter of hunters grinned, waving, and Chrollo smiled back. It only took a nod and a pointed glance for Hisoka to pick up on the situation.

Stopping them completely, Chrollo pulled his arm free of Silva’s, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You’re right, Silva,” he admitted, keeping the man’s eyes on him and away from their surroundings. “I’m going to be the death of me, and that probably won’t change. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, it’s an attractive flaw,” came Hisoka’s voice from above, just before he threw himself from the ledge to land in front of them. His sword was drawn, a mysterious vial in his free hand. “I’ve come to borrow Chrollo. We’ve some business to conclude.”

Silva didn’t wait for more, roaring with his axe drawn. The chain loosened from his grip and he charged Hisoka, dragging Chrollo behind him in his single-minded pursuit. Chrollo kept up for a few steps but found himself tripping, jerking Silva back as he fell to the cobblestones. It gave Hisoka enough time to laugh, stalking forward.

“I could kill you right now,” he observed, taking in the sight of Silva so thoroughly hamstrung by Chrollo’s dead weight. “End your pitiful existence with one strike. I wonder if I should?”

Chrollo forced himself to his knees, his hands around the chain to keep it from strangling him. “Don’t you dare, Hisoka,” he hissed through the tight metal, glaring daggers.

Laughter rang out, nearly drowned out by the bestial growls of Silva. “I like the look in your eyes, Chrollo. But I suppose if I want you, I’ll have to play nice with your pet.” He easily sidestepped the vicious swipe aimed at his middle, Silva too concerned with choking Chrollo to truly come at him. Winding back his arm, Hisoka threw the vial in his hand against a nearby wall. The glass shattered, splattering the sooty brick with a dark, steaming blood.

The effect was instantaneous. Silva seemed to shudder, his body vibrating with tension as he inhaled deeply. It was as if the sky had gone red again for the first time, his teeth growing, his claws extending. Chrollo tugged and ripped at the collar as Silva began to charge the bloody stain. A slash of silver, the ring of metal severing metal, and the choking tension ceased as Hisoka sliced through the chain.

“Why don’t we have some fun while the beast is occupied?” Hisoka crooned, reaching down to pull Chrollo to his feet. He didn’t wait for a reply, simply snatched him up and dragged him away.

Chrollo kept his eyes on Silva even as they turned a corner, rounding on Hisoka with anger and concern. “What was that? What did you do to him?” he demanded, worried at the state Silva had been in. He had wanted an escape but not at the cost of Silva’s sanity.

Hisoka pressed a kiss to his cheek and led him further into the city, stopping in a far removed back alley. “Just another of the city’s many concoctions. It tempts beasts, entices them to follow its scent.” The moment they were hidden from view, he pressed closer, tugging at the chain collar still hanging from his neck. “I wonder if you’re the same. You certainly entice me.”

“How long will its effects last?” Chrollo pushed, looking towards the mouth of the alley. “I have so much I need to ask you before he forces me back into that house.” A list of words, names, so many pieces of the puzzle; this would be his only chance. There wouldn’t be another one after this, not with how catastrophic a little walk became.

Turning his head back towards him, Hisoka surprised him with a kiss en lieu of answers. It was deep, distracting, and with his hands teasing beneath his shirt there was little Chrollo could do to resist. Instead, he dragged the man closer, hungry for the fulfillment his taste seemed to promise. Tension that had been building between them since their first encounter grew tight and loud.

Hisoka broke away, just far enough to nip at his ear and smile against the shell. “Don’t think about that beast,” he whispered, moving his hand to the front of Chrollo’s trousers to toy with the building hardness. “And you’ve yet to pay me for the help I’ve already given you, Chrollo. Don’t get greedy.”

Gasping, Chrollo rolled his hips into the hand. “What do you even want?” he managed to ask, his fist clenched in the fabric of Hisoka’s coat. “I don’t have time to play, I need my answers.”

Despite his words, he didn’t pull away. Hisoka squeezed a little harder as he kissed him silent. “What I want, Chrollo,” he murmured against his lips, “is you. I want you on your knees, looking up at me as I fuck your mouth. I want that beast of yours to take one look at you and know what you’ve been doing here with me.”

Chrollo choked, flushing and moaning as the hand teased him further. “Hisoka, please,” he begged, eyes fluttering shut from the image building behind his eyes. His mouth watered at the thought and when warm hands guided him to his knees, he couldn’t find it in himself to refuse. “I need—”

“Shhh,” Hisoka crooned, hooking his fingers through the chain to drag Chrollo’s mouth forward. “You’ll get what you want when I get what I want. Do a good job and I’ll give you a reward.”

The hand carding through his hair was so gentle despite the insistent tug on the collar and Chrollo couldn’t hold back his want. His hands rose and fixed themselves to Hisoka’s belt, fumbling and pulling until the fabric yielded and freed the aching cock to the open air. “You promise?” he whispered, his lips a hair’s breadth from the head as he stared up at Hisoka beneath his eyelashes.

Hisoka’s smile was luminous, hot and cutting like the heavy chain at his throat. “I promise, kitten,” he said warmly, his voice a reassuring blanket smothering him in its weight. With it ringing through the air, Chrollo gave in to the insistent hand in his hair and opened his mouth.

The man above hissed in pleasure and Chrollo clutched his waist, bobbing his head faster as he took him in deeper. He couldn’t resist the urge to toy with his own need even as he hummed around the cock in his mouth. Every moan he made resonated with those above him, the taste of Hisoka a heady note cutting through the haze. There was something freeing in letting his mouth be used, of letting Hisoka griping his hair and collar tightly in his fingers and chase his end whilst dragging Chrollo along. His hand worked faster, shoved down the front of his trousers, and Chrollo longed for the sharpness of teeth against his throat as Hisoka came in his mouth.

He pulled off the cock, dripping come and saliva from his lips. His own need was hot, painful, and he looked pitifully up at Hisoka. The man cooed, tucking himself back into his trousers as he knelt in front of him, kissing the remains of his release from his mouth. Clever fingers coaxed Chrollo’s from his pants, hushing him like a child when he whined.

“You’re so lovely, such a mess,” Hisoka praised, peppering his cheeks and the corners of his eyes with kisses as he teased the hardness with just his fingertips. “You said you had some questions for me? I’m happy to answer what I can, since you did such a wonderful job.”

It was so hard to think with the need so intense. Chrollo moaned into Hisoka’s arms, curling himself into the man’s embrace as he worked him so slowly. “I—I need,” he began, his eyes closing in pleasure as Hisoka teased the head. “Context. Laurence. Spider. Moon Presence.”

Hisoka tsked but didn’t slow his hand. “Dangerous, dangerous things, Chrollo. You really must stop prying. It’s simply not healthy,” he chastised with a kiss. “Laurence was the vicar, the first of the Healing Church. It’s to him we thank for this night.”

Chrollo fought to focus on the words being whispered to him, but the mounting pleasure left him nearly lost. “Why?” he still managed to ask, his thighs shaking in his desire. In some far off place, he swore he could hear crying, the snarling of beasts. It was probably just the wind.

“Because he delved in things better left alone. Reminds me of someone I know,” Hisoka smiled, rubbing his fingers in a hard circle, sending Chrollo crying out. “He thought he could make humanity better, but all he did was unleash our inner monsters. He didn’t fear the Old Blood. You should learn from him. As for your spider, the Moon Presence, they are simply the culminations of his efforts. One a failure, the other a God mourning its loss.”

The hand was so slow, so punishingly slow that Chrollo could hardly sit still. The wind was absolutely screaming now, echoing and growing and he pulled Hisoka closer to blot out the noise. “More, I want more,” he panted, trying to force the hand faster with his own.

Hisoka just laughed, catching both his hands in his free one and pinning them to his chest. “If that’s what you want. Let me tell you abou—”

The roar came again and this time, there was no mistaking what it was. Brick screeched as sharp claws swiped at the place where Hisoka had rested, narrowly missing Chrollo’s wrecked form. Silva stood above him, his eyes wild and breathing heavy. Blood covered his hands and front and Hisoka was laughing as he darted to the side, already unsheathing his swords.

“Sorry, Chrollo,” Hisoka shot, dodging a wide charge. He spun past Silva and darted to the mouth of the alley, blowing a kiss. “We can continue this next time.” A shimmer of glass flashed in his hand as he tossed another vial, this one crashing into the wall next to Chrollo. Rank blood spattered him where he sat, though Hisoka was already gone by the time it connected.

Chrollo was too far gone to process the departure, his attention focused on the beast now stalking towards him, snarling and intent. With the wall at his back there was nowhere to run. He couldn’t resist when claws tore into his coat, heaving him to his feet like a storm uprooting a helpless tree. Massive arms slammed him into the brick, the wet blood soaking into his clothing and hair, and despite it all Chrollo whined, helplessly turned on.

“Silva, please, I’m sorry,” he rushed, pulling the man closer even as teeth and claws and dangerous rage came with him. A thigh fell between his legs and he rode it the best he could, desperate.

It was apparent, immediately so, that Silva wasn’t going to let this mishap go. “You smell like him,” he rolled out from behind his fangs, his tongue licking a stripe up his cheek where blood had collected. “You've touched him. You’re _mine._ ”

Baring his throat for the inquisitive tongue, Chrollo could only moan and shake. Sharp hands gripped his shoulders, holding him to the wall and stopping his incessant bucking. He looked up into Silva’s eyes, the blindfold loose and around his blood spattered neck, and Chrollo couldn’t see an ounce of mercy in them.

“Please,” he whispered, aching from his pent up need. “Silva, I’m yours, I’m always yours.” As he writhed he could feel more of the blood seep against his skin, cold and thick.

The tongue came down again, following the dripping path, and Silva growled low and quiet. “You don’t smell like mine.” He said it like a threat. With a quick move he had Chrollo up in his arms, his back against the wall and his weight balanced on Silva’s forearms. Teeth teased the skin beneath his jaw and Chrollo was breathless, so on edge he could cry.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, unable to give him more than that.

Silva responded by ripping at his trousers, tearing the fabric down his legs and freeing his hard cock from its confines. He hissed as the cool air touched him, cried out when Silva growled and nipped him for squirming. “He did this,” Silva growled, his eyes furious and possessive. Jealousy ran hot in every move he made and Chrollo could only apologize, spreading his legs wider when Silva freed his own cock. “Show me that you’re mine,” he ordered, and Chrollo bit his lip, confused.

“How—”

A growl cut him off, loud enough for him to feel the thrum in Silva’s chest. Chrollo jolted, a wave of heat spreading through his body as he pulled his fingers into his mouth. He grimaced at the taste of blood but wetted them all the same, keeping eye contact with the beast cradling him against the bloody wall. Fingers shaking, he pulled them from his lips and brought them between his legs, gasping weakly as he began to stretch himself for Silva.

He must have done something right, because the next thing he knew Silva had hoisted him higher, bending him further to better his view of his trembling hand as it thrust his fingers in and out. The scrutiny was mortifying, the constant heat of Silva’s tongue cleaning the blood from his skin a soothing wetness that cooled his fevered cheeks. He slipped a third finger inside and couldn’t choke back the moan, the stimulation almost too much to bear. Every part of him shook with his want and he looked into Silva’s eyes, begging for forgiveness, fulfillment.

Before he was reduced to vocalizing his need, Silva seemed to think it was enough. With a harsh nip and a commanding snarl, he pulled Chrollo’s hand away. Chrollo squirmed desperately, so wound up that there was little he could do to hold himself still. The broken chain still hanging from his throat rattled with him and Silva bit at the skin beneath, adding to the ring of bruised he could feel blooming along his neck. Their eyes met just as Silva lined himself up. Chrollo couldn’t see past the animalistic need, felt it a reflection of himself.

Silva thrust in quickly, punishingly, and Chrollo couldn’t make a sound. His fingers scrambled against the brick above his head, digging into the rough surface and slipping on the blood. The pace was fast, hard, no gradual increase but a marked fervor as Silva fought to fuck his scent into him, physically ground his claim into Chrollo’s skin. Teeth dug into his neck, his shoulders. He could feel himself bleeding from the bites, the warm dampness adding to the mess covering him. His voice came out broken, a wrecked moan for more that only brought the pace faster. He clung to Silva with his knees, begging him to come closer. Silva, too far gone to deny, pressed him into the wall and swallowed him whole.

Buried beneath Silva’s bulk, Chrollo’s world narrowed down to a pinpoint. Fullness, pleasure, pain, the hot press of Silva against him a sharp counterpoint to the cold wall against his back. He dug his nails into the brick, felt them chip and bleed and with an arch of his spine he came, too strung out to hold on any longer.

Despite the come painting his chest, Silva didn’t slow. Instead, he rammed in harder, faster, punching the air from Chrollo’s lungs as he held him in place and rolled his hips. The frenzy-inducing blood scented the atmosphere, lingering above the thick stench of sex and Silva was a slave to the instincts guiding his actions, the conflicting urge to fuck and consume culminating into some bastardized mixture of the two. Chrollo was moaning in his hands, riding the devastating thrusts as if they would take him higher than he already was.

Chrollo gasped, clenched tightly around him and just like that it was over. Silva came with a guttural moan, his hips still rutting in hopes of fucking his release deeper. Every jolt sent electricity through the hunter, his over taxed nerved hardly able to keep up to the onslaught. “Silva,” he choked, fingers clawing at the man’s shoulders. “I can’t, Silva, I can’t.”

He wasn’t ready for Silva to pull out. It was quick, a bit painful, and he grimaced as wet come began to coat the backs of his thighs. Groaning, Chrollo folded his arms over his eyes, his face on fire as the beast devoured the sight of him open and wet with his release.

Somehow, even that wasn’t enough.

“You still smell like him,” Silva growled accusatively, burying his face in Chrollo’s neck. He hoisted Chrollo higher onto his hips, freeing up a hand to rub the release into his skin like a feral animal marking its mate. “You’re mine, you won’t touch anyone again because you are _mine._ ”

Chrollo whined as the cooling come touched his stomach, messing him up even more. He couldn’t find it in himself to protest though, not when Silva began to kiss him. His teeth were sharp but his lips were gentle, even though his anger stood smoldering below it all. Nodding frantically, Chrollo clung to Silva’s neck, wrapping his legs around him like a frightened child. “Yours, I’m yours,” he whispered between the kisses.

He had some answers now. There wouldn’t be a need for anyone else.


	14. Chapter 14

Silva refused to let him go. It wasn’t as if Chrollo tried too hard to free himself, not when he knew the state the entire debacle had put his companion in, but he could admit that the insistence on carrying him around like a child might be a bit much. The streets were quiet around them, empty of life, but even that couldn't entice the man to let him move under his own steam. He could practically hear Hisoka's mocking laugh at his predicament. 

He shifted slightly, craning his neck to try and see past Silva’s arm. “Where are we going?” he asked quietly, his fingers tightening in the fabric of Silva’s sleeve. Though the growling had lessened, the bestial nature reduced with every step they took away from the blood drenched alley, the arms around him were tense. Silva wasn’t happy.

“Be quiet.” Steel ran through his voice and there was no room for argument. “You lied.”

Biting his lip, Chrollo swallowed. He curled into Silva’s chest and ignored how sticky his skin felt. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, at a loss for anything more meaningful. Anything else felt lacking. Apologies hardly felt much better.

Silence answered him and Silva stared ahead icily, his eyes intent on some distant location. With a sigh, Chrollo released the stiff cotton, instead tangling his fingers in the silver hair hanging near his cheek. Even bloody, the strands were still soft. He could only imagine the state of his own, especially after being covered in Hisoka’s blood cocktail. The ends tickled his cheek and he twirled the lock between his fingers. Under the weight of Silva's justifiable anger, he felt like a chastised child.

“We’re going to get cleaned up,” Silva broke the oppressive silence a few minutes later, his voice low and begrudging. “You’re a mess.”

Chrollo smiled, the heavy knot in his stomach easing some with the attention. Perhaps all wasn’t lost yet. “I really am,” he chuckled humorlessly. Blood and come stuck to his clothing and skin, flaking off every time he moved. “You’re not much better. You’re practically soaked.”

He growled a bit, but the real anger wasn’t directed at him. “I’m going to kill that man. Rip him apart.” His grip tightened on Chrollo’s hip, his ribs. The pace increased and Silva turned sharply towards a random residence, kicking in the door before Chrollo could offer to pick the lock.

“He’s annoyingly tenacious,” Chrollo hedged carefully, clinging closer to the man when he failed to put him down despite the narrow hallway. The house was dark, situated closer to the main city and far more furnished than the one they had been using. “You have your work cut out for you.”

Silva grunted and moved through the house quickly, shouldering open doors in his search. “Perhaps I’ll just use you as bait. He seems fond enough of you, and you seem hell bent on throwing yourself to him,” he shot back, finally setting him down in a bathroom. His hand wrapped around Chrollo’s, for added insurance or just continued contact he couldn’t tell.

Tugging lightly on the grip, Chrollo leaned against the wall guiltily when his test failed. “It wasn’t like that,” he tried, the words carrying little weight even to his own ears. Silva turned on the faucet rising from the tub but the rush of water wasn’t loud enough to dissuade the current conversation. “It was just. I had to.”

Glaring, Silva jerked him closer by the wrist. “Get undressed.” The order was quiet, hard, and Silva made sure to place himself in front of the door before letting go of Chrollo.

The hunter frowned, frustration mounting. As he shucked the soiled clothes, he grew defensive. “You don’t believe me, do you?” Ragged and ripped, his shirt was thrown to the ground and his belt followed.

Silva growled and stalked forward, sinking his claws into the waist of his trousers. “You smelled like him. You were covered in him and I saw you, the state you were in,” he grated as he tore through the fabric like paper. Behind them, the water had filled the tub and steamed gently in the cold room. “You. Lied.”

His hands guided him into the water, forceful but not devoid of gentleness. Chrollo let himself be moved, barely resisting the urge to moan as the blessedly hot water washed over him in a soothing wave. It wasn't as if he had allied himself with Hisoka for his health. He had needed help and the price wasn't so high to turn him away. The clear water seemed to bleed as the dried gore dissolved into a tainted osmosis. Guilt, molten and painful, kept him tense.

“I did it for you,” he murmured, his voice nearly lost beneath the trickle of water as Silva scrubbed at his skin. Chrollo couldn’t bring himself to look at the man, simply stared at the maelstrom of blood swirling around his submerged hands.

Silva snarled and Chrollo found his face forced up by a wet, sharp hand. The chain still locked around his throat rattled with the movement. “What?” he demanded, his voice deathly soft.

Chrollo simply met his eyes, leaning into the hand. “I owed him. It was payment for the blood vial he gave me.” He slowly brought his own hand up, wrapped his fingers around Silva’s wrist. There was no chance of moving him, but he craved the contact. “I had to. You would’ve died.”

The silence was unreadable. Slowly, after minutes that fell like hours, the hand at his throat shifted to cup his cheek. Silva traced the sharp cheekbone with his thumb, his eyes softening. Chrollo let out a breath he hadn’t know he had been holding and leaned into it, holding Silva’s hand to his face like a lifeline.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Silva grimaced, confliction heavy on his brow. “Not for me.”

“You were dying. I would have done more. You save my life constantly,” Chrollo pressed. He let his other hand come up, catching the front of Silva’s shirt and spattering it with water. “How could I not?”

Instead of a reply, Silva leaned forward and kissed him. It was gentle, chaste, no threat of teeth or anger to be found. Chrollo gasped and let the man deepen it, let his tongue brush against his own. Warm hands traced down his neck, past the heavy chain and along his bite-marked shoulders. Heat followed every touch and Chrollo pressed closer, chasing it as best he could with the porcelain edge separating them.

Water sloshed from the basin and onto the floor when Chrollo rose onto his knees, wrapping his arms around Silva’s neck. The cold air stung his wet skin but it was nothing compared to the warmth radiating from the priest. He moaned when hands teased along his spine, rested on his ass and pulled him up and in. Tacky blood from Silva’s clothing stuck to his damp chest and the need to breathe won out in the end.

They broke the kiss but stayed in each other’s space, sharing the air between them like a secret.

“I’m sorry,” Chrollo murmured breathlessly, saying it against Silva’s lips as if the proximity would add sincerity. “I’m sorry for lying. Please forgive me.”

Silva licked into his mouth again, coaxing another wanton noise to the surface. “Do you remember what you said to me?” he asked, running his hands along his flanks. “When you promised to let me lead?”

Chrollo, too dizzy from the ministrations to think, shook his head. Silva tore his lips away, moving them to his neck.

“You said,” he began as he nipped at the skin, brought a hand up to tug at the collar. “If you left my side, what I could do to you. Do you remember now?”

Heat rushed his cheeks as his words broke through the haze. Chrollo bit his lip and began to shake, the teeth at his throat taking on new meaning. The fingers tightened on his skin when he didn’t answer. The sharp prick of claws guided the answer from him, among another strangled moan. Over sensitive nerves fired off and it was almost too much.

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” Chrollo asked with a rasped voice, the hand reaching lower coaxing his legs to spread wider. He didn’t think he could handle being fucked again, not so soon, but his body hardly seemed to care. “You’re going to be even more overbearing now.”

“You say that as if you don’t need constant supervision.” Wide fingers pressed against his stretched entrance and dipped inside, slick from the water and earlier release. Chrollo groaned into his shoulder and clung tighter to his front. “You’re mine. I won’t let you leave my sight again. Try anything like this again and I won’t be so forgiving.”

Chrollo fucked the fingers as best he could, sloshing water over the floor in his languid want. “Thank you,” he whispered into the man’s coat, pulling at the layers in his need to feel bare skin against his own. It wouldn’t matter, he thought as he tore through the buttons, tugged at blood-stiffened fabric until his fingers reached smooth heat. He was so close already, the information from Hisoka building the missing links between what he had discovered prior. As long as he still had Silva, he could bear any restrictions. Blood coated his tongue as he mouthed every inch he uncovered. It tasted like forgiveness. 

An unyielding hand found his jaw and ripped him from his pursuit. “The collar stays,” Silva ordered, hooking his fingers over the chain and using it to lead Chrollo up to his mouth for a kiss.

“Of course,” he breathed, smiling happily into the devouring kiss. “Now hurry up and join me. You’re filthy.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas everybody! i hope you all have a wonderful holiday season~

“Is there really nothing else to wear?” he asked again, for the fourth time. The sleeves were scratchy with the decorative lace trim, not even remotely as comfortable as the silk one had been. Whoever had lived in this house had been wealthy, of that was no doubt, but their taste was decidedly lacking in practicality.

Silva rolled his eyes and didn’t deign to answer him again, simply fastened the buttons of his own pilfered outfit. It was easier for him to swallow the available options. Everything in his size had belonged to a servant or something similar. Chrollo stared enviously at the thick cotton and well-worn fit and bitterly regretted his small build. He was dressed as a princeling when the weather called for slaughter.

Annoyed, he threw himself onto the plush mattress, ignoring the hearty clang of the chain. “This is going to get ruined the moment we step outside. I’ll be a mess before we even make it back to my books.” He tugged at the lace again, half considering ripping it off. A closer look at the stitch dissuaded it though. The lace itself was intricate, woven like leaves and vines in a way that smacked of its quality, but the way it had been attached to the sleeve was shoddy. One harsh tug and the whole thing would unravel.

“What makes you think we’re going back for those books?” Silva finally spoke up as he tightened the laces of his boots. “You’re better off without them.”

Chrollo just frowned, rolling his eyes this time. “I think we both remember what happened last time the books were left behind. You confident you won’t fall asleep again? If so, then by all means let us leave them where they are.”

A smile teased his lips when Silva stepped towards him, bearing down on him from above with hard eyes. He reached for the collar and gave it a sharp yank, hard enough to drag Chrollo forward and inhibit his breathing a bit. “That won’t happen again,” he stated.

“Are you sure?” Chrollo whispered, smiling through the breathlessness. “Better not risk it. I’m a repeat offender after all.”

They held eye contact for a few moments, Chrollo’s grin only growing larger the more Silva glared. The moment the chain loosened was when he knew he had won. He snatched Silva’s hand before he could pull it back, pressing a kiss to the palm as thanks. Silva just grimaced and dragged him to his feet and towards the door.

Their weapons were leaning against the wall, waiting. Chrollo shouldered his cleaver and waited for Silva. “So,” he began, kicking at the wall’s molding. “Are you carrying me or should I just hold your hand?” He doubted there wouldn’t be some sort of insurance to keep him at the priest’s side, especially with the chain lost somewhere out in the streets. There hadn’t been many beasts so to speak of, not recently for one reason or another, but the reality of being ambushed while bound was a very real risk. Hisoka’s ease at overwhelming them was evidence enough of that.

He didn’t need to remind Silva. The man stared down at him and gave him a once over, taking in the flimsy finery. Suspenders hung low and loose from his waist and Silva grabbed one, tugging it experimentally. It held fast.

Chrollo dead panned. “Are you serious?” he asked as he was jerked closer by the hanging strap, regretting his decision not to wear it normally. “I think I’d prefer you holding my hand.”

“This isn’t about what you want,” came the gruff reply. Silva opened the front door with little else, though Chrollo could have sworn he caught the barest hint of a smile on the man’s face. He didn’t have time to check though as he was unceremoniously pull across the threshold and into the street outside.

He quickly found that unlike the chain, which had been long and attached high up on his neck, having his suspenders used as his leash was decidedly less manageable. Before he could enjoy a few feet of slack, the heavy weight of the chain the only hardship. Silva increased the pace and Chrollo jogged to keep up, tripping slightly as he was pulled flush to the man’s side lest he risk losing balance completely. Like this, there was no slack, just scant inches that if exceeded left him stumbling.

Looping his arm with Silva’s, Chrollo glared at the smug man and forced their steps to fall in line. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” he muttered as he turned his attention towards the state of the city. “Where do you think everything went? The city is dead.”

He could feel more than hear the rumble of laughter. “It’s the sky,” he admitted, too caught up in his good mood to refuse to answer his questions. “They’ve either killed each other or been killed in the frenzy. This night is nearing its end, though the worst is yet to come.”

Carefully, choosing his words slowly, Chrollo pressed for more. “You talk as if you’ve seen this before. Is this common to nights of the Hunt? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You wouldn’t have, being a stranger here.” With another jerk, this one marginally gentler, Silva guided them through a back alley and out onto another ruined street. Bodies were piled in the gutters but they paid them no mind. “It was like this before, at the time of the fire. This city use to stand so tall, before the flames purged it of everything.”

He spoke wistfully, a note of melancholic nostalgia ringing through the words. Racking his brain, Chrollo thought back on all he had heard of Old Yharnam. “That was years ago. Did you live here? Is that why you know the streets so well?”

Silva turned away from him and Chrollo had his answer.

“What’s left to come?” he asked instead, once they had moved through a few more streets and the tension between them had eased away a bit. “What does the blood moon beckon? It’s frightening, not knowing what might happen next.”

Eying him, Silva didn’t immediately answer, as if he were weighing the sincerity of Chrollo’s professed fear. “What do you know of the Moon Presence?” he asked finally, and Chrollo held his breath.

“Nothing,” he replied, forcing himself to stay level, to keep the look of unease on his face. Silva always seemed more receptive to him when he appeared scared, unsure. Clutching his arm tighter, Chrollo set to making the man feel protective. “Is it one of your Gods?”

The grip held him closer and Chrollo felt victorious.

“Of a sort. I won’t pretend to know its thoughts. It creates the blood moon, sends the beasts into a frenzy. It’s said to like hunters. Grants them strength in their dreams and guides them towards its brethren.”

Grants them strength. Chrollo looked up at that, recalling the dream, the china woman who brushed the hair from his eyes and spoke so very gently. “Can you tell me about the dreams? Have you ever had them before?”

He winced when Silva shot him a look. Perhaps he was getting too eager, his tone too inquisitive. He licked his lips and schooled his expression, praying he’d still get an answer.

“Not for a while,” Silva finally relented. “I hardly remember. They were peaceful though. Always soothing. And there was a woman there, a doll. I haven’t been a hunter for years.” Again he sounded wistful, as if remembering a pleasant scene. The similarities weren’t lost on Chrollo.

They came upon the original house and just like that, Chrollo found the conversation forcibly concluded. The usual gruffness bled back into Silva’s voice and he pulled them through the door and up the stairs.

“Grab your books. We aren’t staying here,” he ordered, releasing the suspenders the moment he blocked the door.

That was surprising. Chrollo stacked the various tomes, shuffled them until they fit neatly in his arms. “Really now? Where are we headed in that case? I didn’t think you’d want to venture out again, especially if there’s more coming.” He slipped off the bed and followed Silva back down the stairs, fumbling the books a little while he tried to balance them and his weapon. Fighting wasn’t going to be easy, not if he couldn’t find a better way to transport them.

Silva grabbed the straps again to his dismay, nearly unsettling the whole stack. “Somewhere safe,” was all he gave as he pulled him towards the main street and away from the labyrinthine ruins of the old city center.

Chrollo raised a brow but didn’t ask the obvious question. There hadn’t been any safe place so far, every single area having been devoid of uninfected life. “Are you intending to wait out the night then?” he ended up asking when he realized there would be no more forthcoming. “Seems awfully dull.”

“I’d rather it dull.” His glare was more than just an expression. Chrollo could feel the warning in it, the unspoken threat of what would happen if he attempted to drag them into another half thought out scheme. It made him smile, faux innocence worn like a mask.

“If you say so. Some excitement can be good for you, especially at your age,” he posed, stumbling a bit as Silva jerked on the straps. The books nearly tumbled from his grasp and he glared at the priest. “Where are we going then?”

En lieu of an answer, Silva merely walked faster. Chrollo frowned at the dismissal, far too versed in the man’s behaviors at this point to simply write it off as obstinacy. He bit his lip as he realized the truth.

“You don’t know where we’re going, do you?”

The annoyed growl was damning in its own right. “Shut up and keep moving,” was all Silva gave, refusing to look back at him.

Chrollo chuckled under his breath, his mouth a closed-lip smile when Silva turned back to stare angrily at him. “Of course, of course. Whatever you say, Silva.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so bit of explaining for the suspenders thing. if youve never seen the starting outfit for the bloodborne game, go check it out. it has insanely long suspenders that hang down, which has always seemed incredibly unsafe to me especially when you factor in all the beasties and jagged objects that could catch those and make you fall on your ass. i really wanted to bring them in somehow and when i was in need of a new leashing device, well, i found them a perfect substitute. check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know how you liked this~ have a great holiday season and i'll see you next time!!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: descriptions of being burned alive. just so you know. enjoy.

Chrollo took one look at the town before him and rounded on Silva.

“So this is your idea of safe?”

The screams and moans of the infected townsfolk carried on the wind, loud even up on the hilltop. From their position, Chrollo could just make out the twisted forms of people shuffling about, their gaits shaky and fumbling. The glint of wicked looking sickles highlighted every movement and Chrollo’s dead pan was piercing.

Silva had the gall to look stalwart. “It’ll be fine once we clear it out,” he muttered, pushing past Chrollo’s judgmental expression to move closer to the hamlet below.

Chrollo rolled his eyes and followed after, glad to see that the leash had been loosened if only slightly. “Great idea, let’s just wander down into the witches’ den and pray there aren’t more lurking just outside our sweep. Where even are we? This place is eerie.”

“Scared?” Silva asked a bit annoyed. When he failed to get a rise out of Chrollo he huffed out a laugh. “This is Hemwick Charnel Lane.”

The name didn’t inspire confidence. “I may be more curious about your thought process in considering this a safe place than anything related to the city. Charnel is literally in the name, Silva.” As they grew closer to the town proper, Chrollo grew more on edge. It was so hard to wield his cleaver while holding the books.

“Good. If you keep your curiosity focused on me you might actually live through the night,” Silva shot back, in far too high of spirits considering the situation at hand and the beasts only just beginning to realize their presence.

Chrollo frowned and readied his weapon, prepared to drop the books if anything charged. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he said, biting his lip as the first of the malformed figures spotted them.

The creature’s shriek cut off any retort, its cry thin and reedy. Silva met it first and with a mighty swing of his axe, clove it in two with a wet _shluck._ Chrollo wrinkled his nose at the spray of gore. More began to charge as the sound of the first’s scream echoed through the lane and Chrollo came to the realization that there was no way his books were making it out clean.

“I really, really hate your idea of a safe place,” he remarked, dropping the books to the side and throwing his cloak over top in a half-hearted attempt at protection. Silva didn’t reply, simply grinned and dropped the suspenders in his hand to let Chrollo fight freely.

After that, there was no more time for conversation. Instead, they tore into the mounting throng of witches and beasts. Unlike the ones within the cities, these were tough, crafty. Some stayed at a distance, lobbing flaming cocktails that singed and burned. Chrollo threw himself to the left, narrowly avoiding the rush of fire that spread across the ground. His sleeve was singed, his skin blistered from the hot rush of air. Spitting out a curse, he rounded on the monstrous dog behind him, catching it under the chin before it could leap and rip out his own throat.

Silva seemed to be focusing his attention on the distance ones, the smarter ones that wielded arcane and fire like children would snowballs. His axe took them out quickly, without pity, and Chrollo breathed easier when the sky ceased raining fire upon him.

Until it didn’t cease.

He had his cleaver lodged in the skull of some witch, its head just a roiling mass of inky tendrils, when he heard the whistle of a lobbed bottle. The saw tore through the brain matter and bone as he looked to the sky, caught sight of the flaming cocktail thrown by some beast missed by Silva’s purge. It flew overhead, too far right to be of any danger to him. Chrollo’s eyes tracked the path and his heart stopped in his chest. Too far to be any risk to himself. Just right to fall on his tossed coat, the books below. Without thinking Chrollo threw himself to the side, Silva shouting as he fell over top the bundle.

The sharp sting of the bottle shattering against his back was a momentary discomfort in comparison to the spread of liquid fire down his spine that followed half a second later. Chrollo screamed but threw himself off the books, possessing enough sense through the pain to protect them at all costs. Rolling and scrambling against the blood damp earth, he tried to smother the fire. The shirt, delicate and thin, held up just as well as he had predicted.

Time lost meaning as he burned. His cries reverberated in the hamlet, muffled by the dirt but deafening to his own ears. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, the fire licking along his shoulders like the most violent of lovers. Tears streamed from his eyes but nothing could cool the burn. He prayed for unconsciousness but knew the pain was too great for there to be such easy relief.

Rough hands seized him by the forearms and his screams renewed as Silva threw him to the ground, dirt and bramble ripping along the burned skin as he tried to smother the flames with force. Thick cotton came next, covering the fire that refused the loam. Chrollo could hardly choke in air, the pain so horrendously thick that it poisoned the breath as it came, reeking of blackened flesh and acrid smoke. Through it all, he could hear Silva swearing, begging him to be okay.

The prick of the blood vial was buried beneath the waves of pain, but Chrollo could feel the flesh knitting back together, the cooling sting of his blistered skin healing. He couldn’t stop crying and the moment he felt able, he grabbed Silva’s hands, pulling himself into the man’s arms. Silva held him tightly, the initial brush of his fingers over his newly healed back sending Chrollo shuddering, wincing.

“It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts,” he let out in a rush, rocking himself in Silva’s lap. Chrollo buried his face in the man’s bloody shoulder, nearly sobbing from the shock. The skin of his back was mostly healed but every movement stretched the raw surface, stinging in a way that came in waves, like the burn of fire. He could still smell the burning flesh every time he inhaled. It made his head pound, the long-ignored sound of the baby crying rising up to harmonize with his own.

Silva shushed him like a child, stroking his arms and neck. “Do you want another blood vial?” he asked softly, the fury tamped down in his voice and to be saved for later. Chrollo nodded as he clenched his fingers tighter into the damp fabric, his face wet with blood and tears. He didn’t even wince when the needle pressed into his skin, the now familiar ache a comfort in its promise for relief. “You’ll be okay,” Silva whispered, throwing down the spent needle. “But we need to move. It’s not safe to be out in the open like this.”

That ripped a laugh from him. Chrollo leaned back and looked at Silva through the tears, the “I told you that much already,” following a weak smile. He wiped at his eyes and took a few breaths, the pain having subsided with the second dose of blood. With it though came a renewed sense of dread. The crying had become louder, the voices closer. A quick glance to the bloody moon brought on a wave of dizziness and he forced himself to stand. The strength in his limbs was heady, the imbued blood intoxicating almost in its power. “I’m sorry for that,” he breathed, refusing to let that weakness show. It would only worry Silva further. “I think I’m okay now.”

The conflicting feelings shone bright in Silva’s posture, his desire to comfort at odds with the overwhelming urge to beat some sense into him. He sighed and eased himself back onto his feet, a combination of the two rising up to take control. “You can’t keep doing this. You’re going to die for this inane obsession.”

Chrollo bit his lip at the exhaustion heavy in the man’s voice. Guilt sang high and loud, almost overpowering the whispering behind his eyes. He wrapped his arms around his chest, the cold night chilling him through the burnt remains of his shirt. “I can’t help it,” he murmured, letting Silva pick up his coat and wrap it around his shoulders. “I’ve come too far to stop now. It all has to mean something, Silva. I couldn’t bear not learning the truth. If those books are destroyed…I have no other way to learn.”

Silva simply glared down at the unharmed books for a moment before picking them up. Chrollo took a step forward, fearful that he was planning to throw them down the nearby well or something similar, but the priest simply stacked them and held up under his arm.

“If these are so worth dying for…” He trailed off, taking in the carnage around them. His eyes settled on the blackened, bloody space where Chrollo had thrashed, the burnt bits of flesh still discernable through the undergrowth. “I’ll keep them safe. I don’t want you doing this again.”

There was no hiding the look of surprise on his face. “You’re…you’re going to help me?” he asked, hope rising in his chest. The books wouldn’t matter if he could just get Silva to take him out and about, if they could explore the locations mentioned within the pages. Maybe being set on fire was a blessing.

A scream sounded somewhere further into the village and Chrollo startled, the realization of their situation breaking the moment. They both turned towards the sound but upon seeing nothing, relaxed slightly.

“We should probably keep moving,” Chrollo said slowly, looking to Silva for the ultimate decision. “Maybe find somewhere to get me a new shirt and talk about a plan. Like you said, it’s not safe here.”

There was no argument, just a nod, and Silva shouldered his axe and led the way deeper into Hemwick. Chrollo followed after, grinning at the sky above. His mouth tasted of blood and his ears sung with the veiled murmurs. They were getting closer. He could hardly wait.


	17. Chapter 17

It was after he stumbled for the fourth time that Silva finally refused to be simply pacified by empty assurances that Chrollo was, as he kept saying, fine.

“Stop pretending nothing’s wrong,” Silva growled, snatching Chrollo by the shoulder before he could topple over. Though the village was straight ahead he still slowed them to almost a stop, the concern and stress still heavy on his shoulders.

Chrollo grit his teeth and tried to tear his attention away from the shapes boiling in the air around them. “I told you, Silva, I’m—”

“You’re not fine,” he cut in, taking Chrollo by the chin to force his eyes to meet his own. Chrollo balked, for a moment terrified that Silva would be able to see the change in him, the mess of his thoughts and brain. Silva’s face softened at whatever he did see, his voice following suit. “Chrollo, please. Let’s take this slow.”

The unexpected tenderness nearly had him stumbling again. Something burned in his throat, some vague return of the fire’s embrace. Leaning a bit more into Silva’s side, Chrollo blinked furiously away at whatever he was feeling. He didn’t want to think about this right now.

So instead, he threw on a smile, forcing a laugh out to smother the bile creeping up his esophagus. “You’re worrying too much. I swear I’m fine. Just, you know, a little tired. Which I think is perfectly understandable.” He set them walking again, dragging Silva behind him until he finally surged forward to catch up. “Let’s just….let’s just get somewhere safe,” Chrollo directed to the ground beneath his feet.

A large, warm hand took his, their fingers intertwining. Chrollo flushed but kept his eyes to the dirt, dragging his boots through the loose earth.

They entered the town proper and saw up close how dilapidated the buildings were. Everything seemed in the grips of an advanced stage of decay, from the wooden houses to the stonework lining the road. The scent of decomposition hung like a fog through the streets and Chrollo coughed into his hand, sorely regretting the loss of his scarf.

“Did they build this place on top of a battlefield?” he asked, kicking at the black dirt as if it would uncover the source of the stench. “I guess the name isn’t just for show.”

Silva seemed even more affected than Chrollo if his pained expression was any indication. “They handle the dead here,” he gave, increasing the pace as if it would minimize the time spent in the fetid air. “I had no idea it was this bad.”

Chrollo frowned but kept up, not wanting to be separated here of all places. He thought back to Yharnam itself, of the streets there. “What do you mean they handle the dead? The city was lined with coffins, Silva.”

“I’m not certain,” he hedged, turning them towards a house that seemed only marginally decrepit compared to its neighbors. “But the dead are sent here. It’s too hard to handle the numbers within the city itself. The cemeteries can only hold so many.”

They opened the door with more care than any before it but nothing came at them. Sharing a look between them, Silva held Chrollo back from entering. “You’re not well. I’ll go.”

Chrollo grew angry and the voices grew with it. “I’m fine,” he snarled, pulling his hand free from Silva’s so he could push at the beastly man with both hands. “I don’t need you coddling me!”

Silva’s eyes widened at the sudden shift and he held him firmly by the shoulders, ignoring his attempts to put distance between them. “You’re not fine, Chrollo. I’m going to find supplies and check for anything inside. Just stay here. You’re in no condition to help right now.”

“Are you going to tie me to the post to keep me in place?” Chrollo snapped, crossing his arms. His blood felt near boiling, his head pounding. Something behind his teeth itched.

“Do I need to?”

At that Chrollo balked, the tone in Silva’s voice suggesting that he would if he felt he had to. Swallowing his rage, Chrollo forced himself to relax and deflate.

“No,” he mumbled to the ground, the picture of contrite unhappiness. “Just go. I’ll sit here and wait for you like a fucking child.”

The hand extended to him was ignored and Silva frowned, anger coloring his own posture. He didn’t try to argue the point. “I’ll only be a few minutes,” he swore, trying to make eye contact. “Please, Chrollo. Don’t move.”

“Whatever. I won’t.” Chrollo sat down heavily on the front steps, his head resting against the exposed beam, his saw cleaver cradled in his arms as if to comfort. The books were carefully placed next to him but Chrollo refused to acknowledge the gesture.

Silva spared him another long look but turned towards the entrance. The door closed behind him with a sharp snap and Chrollo counted to fifteen before standing and making off down the lane. He left the books where they were. He could come back for them later.

He pulled his coat around his shoulders as a gust of wind tore past him, carrying on it more of the stench. It rankled and rubbed at his raw nerves and for the first time in a long time Chrollo wished for a beast to appear, if only so he could take out this new anger on something that would actually fight back.

His cleaver was a comforting weight against his shoulder and he gripped the handle tightly as he moved. Shacks and shanties rose up on either side of him but he kept moving forward, following the source of the wind. They handled the dead here, Silva had said. Chrollo didn’t see any corpses, couldn’t see anything that would explain the rot in the air. The mystery burned like fire as the voices sang.

If Silva wasn’t going to let him be useful then he’d just do it on his own.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for emetophobia (vomiting) and eye horror/gore.

He found the source and didn’t resist the urge to vomit.

The contents of his stomach emptied themselves out onto the blackened earth, the ash and dust rising up to choke him as he gagged. Chrollo shook and spat, his fingers clenching handfuls of the ash. When he squeezed he could feel the pieces of bones that had refused to burn. Teeth were scattered in the charnel piles, glinting dully in the violent moonlight.

Tears ran down his face and his stomach seized again but there was nothing left to give.

Chrollo forced himself to look up from the mess of ash and acid to take in the scene before him again. Whatever had happened here was still happening, production only stopped by their arrival. He stood on shaking legs and kicked through the piles of charred dead, raking through the dust with his cleaver. To the far left of the clearing rested the piles of dead still waiting to meet their fiery end.

Something wasn’t right with this. His empty stomach roiled in disquiet as he moved and he could feel some strange energy reverberating underfoot. Chrollo knelt next to a tall pile of ash, the result of countless bodies being burned, and he thrust his hand inside. Electricity raced through his bones, stuttering his heart. Whatever was building inside his mind responded to it and Chrollo shook like a leaf in a storm.

The ash was dangerous.

An odd shuffling snort broke him from his thoughts and Chrollo dove behind the nearest charnel pile, his hand clapped over his mouth to hide his breathing. It couldn’t be Silva, he thought, peering past the pile to search for the source of the noise. Silva wouldn’t have come so quietly, not after being abandoned like that. A sliver of guilt and cold licked up his spine as he thought of how he had ran off. He bit his lip and forced it to the back of his mind.

A dark figure skittered across the ashen field, scuttling across the ground like a beetle. Even from this distance he could make out the monstrous tendrils that signaled one of the resident witches. Chrollo held his breath and crawled towards another heap, inching closer to the figure. He could worry about Silva later. Knowing him he was already on his way here, tearing a warpath though the village in search of his disobedient Hunter.

He managed to get within ten yards of the witch before he was forced to stop lest he attract too much attention with his movements. Chrollo narrowed his eyes and watched as it dug its hands into the ashes, collecting and scooping the blackened dust into jars. Grey eyes went wide as he realized it was harvesting, every movement it made done with intent.

The ash, the burning, the collection; whatever this was, it was being done for a reason.

Chrollo took another handful of the ash in hand and stared at it as if it would tell him its use if only he looked hard enough. On a whim he licked a bit from his finger, disregarding all notions of concern. It sang on his tongue like gunpowder and he choked a little, feeling something similar to what the skull had been.

A shriek pierced the air and Chrollo looked up to find the figure charging towards him. Fear seized his heart and Chrollo fell back onto his haunches, scrambling for his weapon. The ash made his hands slip on the handle and he slid messily as he tried to stand.

The witch came at him with claws and teeth bared and Chrollo swung widely to try and put distance back between them. He was in a horrible position for this, his mind clearly not keeping up with the pace of the fight.

“Silva!” he shouted as he kicked the creature back, glancing around for any sign of the priest. His voice only enraged the witch more and he fell back as it leapt at him, its thin limbs impossibly strong.

With his arms pinned to his sides he could only shake and thrash and scream for help. Blood rose on his back, his shoulders, his cheek as dagger-like nails raked across his skin. Something silver gleamed and Chrollo yelled as a sharp piercing point pressed to the corner of his eye, the sickle’s vicious edge cutting into his flesh as he struggled to get away. The creature screamed back, its breath sour and rancid.

The cold iron plunged into his socket and all was washed out in the wake of the pain it brought. Chrollo knew he must have been screaming but nothing phased the blinding assault as the sickle twisted and scraped, ash-black fingers digging in to rip free his eye.

The pain was so immense, a crushing wave that numbed as it burned, that Chrollo barely registered the arrival of Silva and the brutal onslaught that came with him. All at once the witch was torn from his person, sending him to the ashen ground as he clutched his bleeding eye, his hands struggling in vain to hold in the fire and blood and tears that poured from his socket like rain.

Vaguely he took in Silva beating the creature to a pulp somewhere to his left. Everything had taken on a sort of murky quality, the air thick and near liquid in his lungs. Chrollo fell onto his side and breathed in the bone dust, blinking wildly though it stung like razors.

Warm hands eventually came to support him, lifting him from the dust. The change in direction had him retching but with his stomach empty there was nothing to let out. The muscle spasms ached and he swayed dizzily as he bled. Silva was saying something but he couldn’t understand any of it.

Silva’s hands came up and prodded harshly at his eye and Chrollo jolted, trying to rip himself from the painful touch.

“Stay still!” Silva’s voice rumbled, finally breaking through the din in his head. “I need to see how bad it is, Chrollo, you have to stay still.”

Chrollo rested his hands over Silva’s but knew enough to not try him, not when he felt like he was dying. Saliva ran down his face as he breathed through his mouth, too overwhelmed to swallow. “Silva,” he wheezed, digging his nails in. “Silva, I’m sorry.”

A harsh shake rattled through the priest’s frame and Silva held him in place. “Save it for later,” he grated though his voice shook. The fear was evident in his voice and Chrollo cried harder as his fingers dipped into his bloody socket, feeling the damage done.

“Silva I can’t….” Chrollo tried, fading out as he was hit by another bout of dizziness. Silva kept him upright though and his hands turned gentle where they held his arms. For some reason it didn’t calm.

“Chrollo, I…” Silva began, stroking along Chrollo’s arms as if to comfort himself as well as the Hunter in front of him. “I need to take it out.”

His words sounded slurred but he tried to keep up. “What?” he asked, leaning into the man’s chest as he struggled to keep conscious.

“I have to take out your eye. It’s punctured. It can’t be saved.”

Chrollo jerked up to stare at the man, blood tinging his vision red. “What do you mean?” he snapped with more energy than he felt. “There has to be another way.”

Silva looked sick. “There isn’t, Chrollo. It’ll get infected and you could lose more than just an eye if we don’t.” His fingers fell to his hip and he pulled out a small knife, something no bigger than a penknife.

Panic set in and Chrollo began to hyperventilate. “No, no, Silva no!” he stammered, pushing weakly at the hand holding the knife. “I can’t, I can’t take it. Give me a blood vial, I can just—”

“That won’t work Chrollo!” Silva interrupted, holding Chrollo’s hands in one of his own. His stare grew softer when Chrollo jumped but he stayed firm. “Blood can’t heal everything. If there’s one thing you’ve learned so far it’s that.”

The words fell like the executioner’s axe and Chrollo let his hands fall into his lap. His lips were dry and tasted like death when he wet them. “Do what you have to do then,” he whispered, nearly too soft to hear.

Warm hands gripped his chin and Chrollo gave in to the pain, the sweet embrace of unconsciousness enveloping him like a lover.


	19. Chapter 19

Chrollo awoke with a start and found himself surrounded by flames.

He fell back and instinct guided him as he scrambled to his feet, his mind racing and his body panicking. Ghost pain raced up his spine. His nose filled with the scent of burning flesh. His back met a hard wall and he began to hyperventilate.

“Dear Hunter, are you well?” a voice asked, as soothing as rain.

Chrollo shook when a cool hand touched his face and he stared into the Doll’s eyes, unseeing. He had been in the ashes, he tried to think. There was no sign of the village now.

He licked his lips and tried to breathe. “Why is there fire?” he asked, his throat parched. Gone was the calming feeling from before. The dream had transformed into a budding nightmare, the peace encased in the inferno.

The Doll tilted her head and took him in, her hands calming him like a mother would a child. “This dream is ending,” she murmured, her china fingers chiming gently alongside the crackle and burn. “The Hunt is coming to a close.”

Slowly the shaking began to abate once he realized the flames weren’t coming closer. They remained focused on the house on the hill. He could see the moon above, bleeding into the sky. It felt like a conclusion. A forgone one.

“Will you be okay?”

She seemed shocked that he had asked and he placed his own hand over hers. It was only then that he realized he was seeing with both eyes. There was no pain here, even as the world began to succumb to the fire.

The Doll looked up to the burning house and sighed, her face melancholic. “I was created to serve you Hunters. This will burn and be born again for the next generation.” Her painted eyes looked into his own. “I will remain.”

Chrollo bit his lip. “I won’t see you again after this, will I?”

Her smile was gentle and motherly. She placed her hand over his eyes and he closed them, letting the thrum of power wash over him as she channeled whatever she saw within him. “You have your purpose, dear Hunter. I am only here to help you on your way.”

It hurt inexplicably and Chrollo swallowed the feelings. This wasn’t fair but there was nothing to be done. He wouldn’t even know how to start. “Why can I see here?” he asked instead, wanting nothing more than to stop thinking about the current conversation. “My eye…”

“Even though this dream is ending it still serves as a refuge. Your burdens are eased here for as long as you stay.” She uncovered Chrollo’s eyes and stroked his cheek, pity and something sadder in her own. “I can only channel your strength. All else must remain.”

For a blinding second Chrollo almost dug his heels in. He could just stay here, with the Doll. What did he have to come back for? A ruined, mangled eye and Silva’s anger? A bleeding sky that sent his head pounding every time he looked heavenwards? He looked at the Doll’s kind face and held her hand in his own. Why return to hell when he had a paradise here?

The house on the hill took that moment to crumble, the weight of the roof finally too much for scorched walls to support any longer. Chrollo jumped at the crashing cacophony, his eyes locked on the fire.

No dream, no matter how perfect, lasts.

Sighing, Chrollo stared at the ground, the flowers dotting the cobblestones. His fingers came to his cheek, resting just below his eye.

“You know, don’t you?” the Doll asked, her voice quiet.

Chrollo took another moment to take in the beauty of the flowers before looking back up to her pale face. He wanted her face to be the last thing his eye saw.

“I’m ready,” he said, rising to his feet.

He didn’t look away from her and he was grateful that she walked with him to the lantern.

With his fingers reaching towards the cold purple, she slowly released his hand. “Farewell, good Hunter. May you find your peace in the waking world.”


	20. Chapter 20

Pain enough to sicken greeted him upon waking and Chrollo refused to open his eyes. Eye. Everything hurt. His body held a pervading ache that could be felt in his very marrow. Chrollo took in a shaky, rattling breath and slowly brought his hand to his face, his fingertips prodding gently at the bundled mass that made up his empty socket.

He was forced to open his eye when someone grabbed his wrist, stopping him from touching.

“Look who’s finally awake?” Hisoka smirked, kneeling down to get on eye level. His fingers traced up and down Chrollo’s wrist, his thumb stroking his pulse point. “You gave us quite a scare.”

Chrollo stared at him in shock and forgot his pain for the moment. “Where is Silva?” he asked, pressing his back against the moldy brick wall as if it would ground him. Someone had carried him here, propped him up against the inner wall of this building. “What are you doing here, Hisoka?”

Hisoka frowned, a little put upon expression as if he had been wounded by his tone. “You never quite seem happy to see me. Your beast is off somewhere looking for water. After your latest exploit he saw fit to get you a babysitter. Apparently you can’t be trusted to stay where you’re told.”

That was hard to believe, for multiple reasons. “Why would he ask you? He hates you,” Chrollo shot, using Hisoka’s shoulder to support him as he tried to stand. His vision went dark and Hisoka caught him before he could fall. Everything hurt. Absolutely everything.

“I’m not all that fond of him either, you know. I suppose it’s because we both have some desire to see you not kill yourself.” His hand was cool on Chrollo’s fevered cheek and he leaned into it. “So try not to die on me. I can only imagine what he might do should he come back and find you expired in my arms.”

Scoffing, Chrollo let his head be rested on Hisoka’s thigh. Clever fingers carded through his hair and it was almost enough to counteract the throbbing ice pick lodged through the socket of his eye. “Liar,” he chuckled, wincing from the pain. “You’d love to fight him.”

Hisoka leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I’d rather fight the both of you,” he crooned. “Just look at the mess you’ve made of yourself. Your curiosity cost you an eye.”

Chrollo didn’t have anything to say to that. There was nothing he could say. Hisoka was right. He had done this to himself. The silence built between them like a secret shared and Chrollo’s thoughts grew deafening. Half his vision was consumed with nothingness and through it all the pain reigned.

Before he realized it himself, he was shaking.

“What’s wrong?” Hisoka asked, for once his voice actually carrying with it a note of concern. He turned Chrollo’s chin so he could see his good eye, his brow furrowed. “Chrollo, you’re crying.”

He brought his hand to his cheek and realized that he was. His fingers tangled in the fabric of Hisoka’s trousers and he cried harder, every sob sending more pain through his head. “It just hurts,” he gasped, his shoulders hitching as everything came pouring out. “Hisoka, it hurts so much.”

Chrollo began to tear at the bandage over his ruined eye, as if freeing it to the open air would alleviate the awful pressure building in his brain. Hisoka grabbed his hands though, wrestling him to the ground to keep him from opening the wound. Thrashing, he tried to throw the other Hunter off but he was too drained to fight.

Instead he buried his hands in Hisoka’s shirt, pulling him forward until he could muffle his sobs in a kiss. “Make it stop, Hisoka,” he begged, not fighting as Hisoka rolled them so that he was resting on the redhead’s chest. “I can’t bear this.”

He expected another kiss, warm hands, a talented mouth on his neck. A sharp prick greeted him instead as Hisoka jabbed a sedative into his thigh. Chrollo stared down at the man with betrayal but before long that too faded away into the numbing fog of the serum. He collapsed fully along Hisoka’s body and mumbled weakly as Hisoka ran a hand down his back.

“You’ll be okay, Chrollo. You’ve come back from worse than this,” Hisoka whispered into his ear, letting his mouth trace the shell. The hands on his back fell to his hips, fondling and warm.

His tears dried sticky on his cheeks, cut with blood.

An hour past, maybe more, as Chrollo drifted in the haze. Hisoka continued to touch him, petting him like a cat whenever a sliver of pain cut through the sedative. Shapes danced behind his closed eye, connecting with the blackness in a seamless dance. Like this, he could imagine he still had both.

Voices rose up around him and he made no effort to listen. The nothingness was comforting like this. Strong hands grabbed him beneath his arms and Chrollo’s eye sprung open, dizzy and disoriented by the sudden shift. The familiar scent of Silva kept him from struggling. He felt so safe.

“-did you give him?” Silva snarled, dragging Chrollo into his arms. He had washed his face at some point and Chrollo took a swipe at his cheek, wanting to feel his skin against his own. Missing, he settled for touching the man’s long hair.

Hisoka was still reclined on the floor, smiling up with consummate innocence. “Just a sedative. He was begging for something to take away the pain,” he answered, sitting up.

Silva didn’t seem to know how to respond. “Did he say anything when he woke up?” he asked, finding it easier to question than to thank. He turned to take in Chrollo’s dazed expression. A large hand enveloped his when he tried again to pull at the bandage over his eye.

“Just that it hurt.”

Chrollo hung limply in Silva’s arms and he rolled his head to look at Hisoka. “It does hurt,” he slurred, reaching for the other Hunter. He managed a smile when he rose up halfway to meet him. “I’m so tired.”

“Sleep for a bit more,” Silva said gently, kneeling down to let Chrollo lay down. He pointedly kept him away from Hisoka.

The idea of sleep was appealing for all of a moment before his drugged mind spat out the image of the Doll’s face lit by the flames. His face grew fixed and he shook his head until the dizziness made him stop.

“No more sleep,” he muttered. “I can’t go back there.”

“Back where?” Hisoka asked, inching closer to thread their fingers together.

He closed his eye and watched the shapes dance. “The dream. The Hunter’s dream.”

Silva settled in on his other side, taking his other hand in his own. “You’ve seen it? The Doll?” Try as he might, he wasn’t quite able to dampen the anger in his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Chrollo snorted and cracked open his eye to look at the priest. “Why would I tell you? So you can keep me from ever sleeping again? You don’t want me to do anything.”

His chin was seized and Chrollo found himself moved to look at Hisoka, his yellow eyes searching and hard. “Why can’t you go back, Chrollo,” he asked and his voice held no trace of the levity from earlier. His hand held Chrollo’s in place, his grip tight.

“It’s ending,” he answered, upset at the coldness. “Everything was in flames. I don’t want to go back to it.”

Curiosity bloomed warmly in the pit of his stomach as they both shared a look above him. For once the usual animosity was stifled.

“Why? What does that mean?” he prodded, pulling their attention back onto him.

Hisoka licked his lips, uncharacteristically unsettled.

“It means that the Hunt is at its end.”


	21. Chapter 21

They both began to move around him and Chrollo stared, confused. “What do you mean it's the end? Isn’t that a good thing?” he asked, trying to keep up. His body was heavy with the sedative but the disquieting looks they both held made it impossible to relax.

His assumptions were justified when Silva and Hisoka shared a meaningful glance between them, no hint of their previous antagonism to be seen.

“We need to move,” Hisoka said, gathering Chrollo’s scattered things and handing him his saw cleaver. “Can you walk?”

Silva didn’t wait for him to answer, instead grabbing him by the arm to lift him bodily from the floor. “We’re not going with you, Hisoka,” he snarled, holding Chrollo in place at his side. Chrollo stared at each of them in turn, his anger growing.

“Going where?” he interjected before Hisoka could get out another word. He glared at Silva and jerked free his hand. “If there’s something happening I want to be there.”

Hisoka sighed, rubbing tiredly at the bridge between his eyes. “If the Dream is ending, we need to go to the original. We want the Hunt to end but it always gets worse before it gets better.”

It answered absolutely nothing and Chrollo’s mind was churning with the new questions forming on his tongue. Silva took him by the hand again.

“Don’t give him more ideas,” he grated, tugging Chrollo towards the door. He slowed up slightly when Chrollo swayed dangerously on his feet, his vision not quite yet adjusted for only seeing through one eye.

With Silva’s grip so tight he knew he wasn’t freeing himself with just a tug. Chrollo looked back at Hisoka and let his knees give out, forcing Silva to a standstill. “I want to know,” Chrollo demanded, his deadweight too much to drag. “Tell me what you meant.”

The childishness had Hisoka laughing and he came over to him, his fingers petting through his hair like a reward. Even Silva’s angry growling couldn’t dampen his mirth and he sank to his knees readily enough to meet Chrollo’s eye. He spared a second of a glance to smile apologetically at Silva. “You know how he gets, Silva. If we don’t tell him he’ll just lose his other eye trying to learn on his own.”

With nary a pause to let Silva argue, Hisoka went on. “The Dream has a counterpart, located in Yharnam itself,” he began, his hands touching and playing along Chrollo’s knees, his hands. “I need to make sure it hasn’t changed. The first Hunter had his workshop there. It attracts all sorts.”

Chrollo didn’t see Silva until he found himself being hoisted up again, the man taking advantage of his blind side. “We aren’t going,” he stated again, glaring hotly at Hisoka for indulging him. “You know as well as I do that nothing good comes from that place.”

Hisoka became uncharacteristically serious, his eyes sharp. “Which is why I need to check that everything is as it should be. I don’t trust anything this close to the end.”

“I’m coming with you,” Chrollo said, kicking until Silva sat him on his feet. He looked up at the priest and ignored how much he dominated his limited vision. “We’re coming with you.”

“No, we’re not,” Silva shot, his teeth bared.

“Yes, we—”

“Before this devolves into a rigorous back and forth, I think I should say that your help would be appreciate,” Hisoka interrupted. Even he was beginning to lose his sense of humor as the minutes ticked by, taking them closer to the twelfth hour. “I don’t know what to expect. I’d rather have more eyes than just my own if something were to happen.”

Silva rounded on the other Hunter. “I don’t care what you may think,” he snarled. “We’ve buried ourselves in enough things better left alone. It’s too risky to keep tempting fate. Something is going to be lost, something a lot more important than an eye.”

The anger and stubborn refusal bled through the traces of sedative still keeping the pain at bay. “I think I know that better than you, Silva,” Chrollo retorted, his hand covering the bandaged mass. “We've lost plenty but for what? I want to go. I need it to be worth it.”

He stared imploringly at his companion, his fingers tightening into fists. “Please, Silva,” he pleaded, his voice breaking a little halfway through.

A hand snaked around his waist and Chrollo found himself pulled into Hisoka’s arms and against his chest. “Even if he says no, I’ll still take you,” he offered, a smile back in his voice. “You don’t even have to beg. Unless you want to, that is.”

That got Silva’s attention far more than the invocation had and Chrollo marveled at the brilliance of the move. Silva would never let him go with the other Hunter on his own. With an eager eye he watched the internal turmoil play out on Silva’s face, masking the smile that threatened to bloom on his own as he caught the moment he gave in.

“You’re going to get us all killed,” he said, equal measures of surrender and acceptance. “This can’t end well.”

Hisoka nuzzled his cheek and Chrollo pulled himself from the man’s arms.

“It was never going to, Silva.” He looked to the Hunter of Hunters and even Hisoka’s smile was colored with inevitability. “Now lead the way.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was never going to end well. good luck.

The sedative had all but worn off by the time they reached the end of their journey, the tense silence only exacerbating the pounding in Chrollo’s skull. His empty socket burned and he clenched his weapon harder to keep himself from tugging at his bandage.

“We don’t have to do this,” Silva murmured, his long stride slowed to accommodate Chrollo’s weakened pace. “We can leave here. Find somewhere to wait this night out. Together.” His earnestness was almost drowning in the morose mood.

Chrollo turned to look at him, swallowing hard on whatever it was that teased the back of his throat. His tongue tasted sweet, bile, and something undefinable. There were no words to give life to what he wanted to say. He shouldered his weapon and took Silva’s hand in his own, threading their fingers together.

He couldn’t bear to see the look on Silva’s face so he turned back ahead, his eye on Hisoka’s back. The redhead was leading, the bells on his outfit anything but jovial. They called out a death knell with every chime, his steps marking out a somber meter.

Chrollo thought it fitting that Hisoka finally deigned to wear the mask of his order. The sharp, unforgiving curve of the mask’s beak seemed a stark contrast to the softness of the scene before them. He couldn’t read the man’s face like this, but the tension in his hands was enough to tell that the shabby cottage was anything but idyllic.

“This is it,” Hisoka said, his voice muffled and darkened by the mask. The dark eyes were turned towards the building before cutting back to Chrollo and Silva. If he noticed their entangled hands he didn’t mention it.

Chrollo was the one to pull free and move forward, Silva dutifully following close behind. “What are we looking for?” he asked quietly. Something about the place reeked of sobriety, like sacristy and loneliness. Curiosity burned in his empty socket. He wanted to move towards it.

Silva’s massive hand came down on his shoulder as if he knew to hold him back.

Hisoka’s shoulders hitched as if in a sigh. “I’m not sure. I’m not old enough to have seen the end of the Hunt before. If we find something, we’ll know it when we see it.”

Biting his lip, Chrollo followed him towards the building. He rested his hand over Silva’s, his hand so much smaller. “Do you have any idea?” he asked, looking into the priest’s covered eyes.

Even Hisoka looked to him. Silva squeezed Chrollo’s shoulder, his eyes turned to the ground. “Nothing good. Nothing human,” was all he explained. It sent a shiver down Chrollo’s spine, the anticipation warring out with the fear of the unknown.

If Hisoka was disheartened by that, he hide it well behind his mask and layers. He led them up the familiar hill towards the building that was all too similar to the one Chrollo had seen in his dreams. He had never gone inside, his business always occurring with the Doll alone, but as they approached he felt a sort of nostalgia smooth down the base of his spine. Something inside was calling to him. Something familiar.

Dust tickled his nose when he stepped through the threshold, his sneeze only just suppressed. The inner part of the house was unlike anything he was expecting. With only a single room, it had the feeling of a studio or workshop more than a domicile. The doors hung open on broken hinges, the insides windswept and a victim to both the elements and time itself. Hisoka entered first but Chrollo followed eagerly. He could see an entire wall filled to overflowing with books and his fingers itched to touch.

That was of course before he pushed past Hisoka and saw what lay adjacent to the stacks scattered across the floor.

Fear and nausea seized his stomach like a vice and Chrollo surged forward. The scent of lavender and musty cotton wafted around him and he fell to his knees, his hands reaching for the porcelain figure. She was still, so deathly still. His fingers stroked along her cold cheek and came back with dust. “What happened to her?” he asked, never tearing his eye from her faded dress. “Why is she like this?”

Behind him Hisoka and Silva shared a look, something unspoken passing between them. Chrollo narrowed his eye as Hisoka put up his hands as if in surrender and walked off to another part of the workshop, busying himself with a battered chest. That left Silva to crouch next to him, his posture apologetic.

“She’s not alive, Chrollo,” he said gently, slowly removing Chrollo’s tightened fists from the skirt of her dress. “In the Dream she was granted life, but here…” His voice trailed off for a moment. “This is all she ever was in our reality,” he finished.

He longed to get angry, to be furious at Silva’s tone. He wasn’t a child who had lost his mother. He just…

In her long silver hair he spied a delicate looking comb, some hair ornament placed with great care to hold back the tresses. Despite the dust on her clothing, she was immaculate, resting against the wall as if in sleep.

Chrollo stood up and turned away. “She was someone’s everything,” he breathed, his heart filled with unexpected grief. “Enough that she was brought into the Dream instead of being abandoned here, alone. Who worked here?”

If he kept his mind moving, he could almost pretend it wasn’t a forcible change of topic.

Hisoka chose that moment to bring himself back into the discussion, proving that he had been listening intently the entire time. “Gehrman, the first Hunter,” he interjected, his beaked masked pointed at them. “This was his workshop, where the first tools and weapons were made for the first order of Hunters. This is where the Dream is based.”

Chrollo looked around him for something to search. The workshop was in disarray, the open doors exposing the insides to the elements. His boot crushed scraps of paper and metal underfoot as he strode towards the far wall, taking in the strange table kept at a distance from the rest of the room’s furniture. It struck him as odd, drawing him in like a moth to flame. 

Falling to his knees, Chrollo investigated the piece before him with a tenacity born of need. He could feel the dead eyes of the Doll on his back, watching him. He forced himself not to look back. There was nothing good that could come from it. His hands rested on the wooded structure and he shoved the sick fear from his mind, putting it into the task at hand.

The strange table was old, incredibly old. Every grain of the wood carried with it a history all its own and the dark stain spread over the front set a nervous sliver of discontent into the pit of his stomach. His fingers traced along the top, tracing over the weathered spots that showed where a plate had been rested, the sharp jagged cuts from a knife blade next to it.

With wide eyes he slowly realized what the table had been.

An altar. There was no doubt, the certainty only growing more prominent the more he looked. He turned towards the side of the piece and rang his fingers along the edges, feeling cool metal. It wasn’t surprising. The altar’s dishes and instruments were missing. They had to be stored somewhere. A quick glance revealed hinges and Chrollo quickly found the mechanism that opened the top with another few minutes of searching.

Creaking slowly open, the top swung back to reveal the inner storage portion of the altar itself. The stink of age and mildew and rot rose up to meet him and he fought down the urge to gag. Clapping a hand over his nose and mouth, Chrollo immediately spotted the knife, its blade long succumbed to rust and damp. The handle was smooth though as he picked it up, the ivory still bright. Setting it aside, he moved the dishes and plates to the side, sorting through the meager contents for something unusual.

A cloth-bound thing twitched and Chrollo nearly lost his balance. He caught himself on the edge of the altar, stopping his near fall before Silva or Hisoka could sense that something had happened. He held his breath and used the ruined blade of the knife to move aside the stained wrapping, revealing the moving mass to the open air.

Grey, mottled, and organic, the ragged cord had all the appearance of a snake with no head. Chrollo let out a breath and watched it, observing it as it twitched and shook just shy of when he blinked. The longer he stared the louder his thoughts rang and for a moment he was almost overcome. Just looking felt like it had when he inhaled the skull. The end coiled around the handle of the knife still in his hand, almost beckoning him closer.

Chrollo turned his head in a daze, taking in Hisoka as he dug through the bookshelf and Silva who tore carelessly through the workbench. Neither turned to look at him, their feared intent keeping them engaged. The piece of flesh in his hand pulsed slightly, moving as if it still held some semblance of life. Thin, gnarled, bloody; the umbilical cord burrowed into the palm of his hand and Chrollo held it close.

The voice rose to reach an immeasurable din and, with his back to his companions and no thought to resist, Chrollo forced the forsaken thing into this mouth and swallowed it whole.

His vision went black and Chrollo pitched forward into the altarpiece, only just catching himself before he collapsed. Rushing water sounded in his ears and he blinked wildly, his breathing shaky. Across his tongue the taste of the thing was painted thickly. The cord curled in his stomach like a worm, nestling comfortably within his insides.

“Are you okay?” he heard a voice ask somewhere behind him, and Chrollo felt himself nod, felt his mouth form some mindless platitude. “I need air,” Chrollo managed, turning towards the nearest door before Silva or Hisoka could catch sight of his face. He had no idea what expression he might have been wearing. He didn’t trust himself to hide whatever it was that he now felt gestating inside him.

Chrollo strode out into the open air and already he could tell that something had changed. The air was still, molten and heavy. It wrapped around him and coaxed him down the hill, towards a trail he had never noticed while inside the Dream. The path was worn, weathered and overgrown from disuse. A gate rose up to meet him but with a touch of his hand the metal gave way, his saw cleaver joining it as both fell to the dirt below. Chrollo floated along as if possessed, his eye intent on the field ahead.

Warmth filled his narrowed sight. If this were a summons, it was a gentle one. Kind.

Flowers softened his footfalls to merely a whisper and Chrollo reached down, his fingertips skimming the petals of a delicate blossom. Asphodels, his mind supplied, the word rolling and reverberating like the peal of a bell through amber. Their sweet scent enveloped him like a coffin.

What a fitting place for an end and a beginning.

Thoughts began to hammer inside his head as he moved closer to the center of the forgotten space. Ends? Beginnings? Something was Becoming but he couldn’t tell what. Chrollo fell to his knees and rested his hands in the flowers as the sky opened up above him. The space behind his eyes ached. The empty socket felt wet, as if he were crying.

He could hear the baby’s cry and for the first time, it didn’t sound so distant.

Chrollo didn’t need to look up to know that something was joining him. The air rippled like a heat mirage, stalling somewhere between his mouth and lungs. Flowers bowed in the non-wind, tickling his hands and wrists as they swayed. Voices roared and whispered, an incomprehensible din. The cord inside him writhed and his hand rested over his stomach, begging it to calm.

Gasping and suffocating, a force compelled his head to rise.

Fear and excitement boiled in his stomach. What stood before him could only be an Old One. Chrollo’s mouth fell open and he drank in the sight of the monstrous being. Black, purple, bloody and iridescent it stood, tendrils of darkness making up its would-be head. A gaping hole stared into him. He had never known such emptiness; he felt it a reflection of the void behind the bandages.

Moon Presence, his brain whispered and even that was too loud to properly receive such a being. Chrollo stood stock still as it came closer, its movements utterly silent.

With probing, articulated hands it reached for him, pulling him ever closer. The God had hardly a body to speak of, just an empty ribcage scraped clean of scraps, a gnarled spine exposed to the open air with limbs fixed to it like a mantis. It was horrifying. It was beautiful.

The entity lifted Chrollo to his feet and he felt his cheek press against the raw bone. His eye closed. It felt like home.

No words were exchanged but Chrollo reached for the bandage around his head, a silent and unintelligible command guiding his hands. Cradled against the scavenged body he unwound the binding, baring his empty socket to the open air. Tears poured from his good eye, a pervading shame at his mistake being seen by such an entity ripping through him like knives.

The monstrous hands held him tighter as if to comfort and another rose up from behind, within its fingers clenched a twitching, wet mass.

Is that for me, he breathed, no words passing his lips.

Yes, the being exuded.

The gift came closer and he didn’t flinch as his hair was grabbed, his skull turned and positioned for him to receive the bloody bundle. Hundreds of pupils stared into his one, like staring at a spider’s fractal eye.

There was no pain and for that Chrollo was thankful, so thankful that he shook in the Presence’s embrace. His head stopped pounding, his bones ceased their shaking. Tension melted from his body and he hung limply within the skeletal arms, blinking lazily as the world came back into view. The feeling of wholeness overcame him and he moved to wrap his own arms around the gristly bone.

The world seemed to turn upside down and Chrollo screamed as he was thrown back, the Moon Presence shrieking in pain or anger. Dirt and flowers tore at his skin, shredding his hands as he tried to catch himself. Something ran past him, a bright slash of silver through the dark meadow, and like a cold dose of clarity Chrollo realized his absence had been noticed.

Strong hands seized him around his middle and tore him from the flowers and his musing. “What did it do to you,” Hisoka leveled at him, his mask lost somewhere in his haste. Chrollo stared into his wild, yellow eyes and couldn’t seem to process what was being asked of him. The hands shook him but it was to no avail.

“Hisoka…” Chrollo mumbled, his thoughts so slow. He felt himself being lowered back to the ground, the soft petals tickling his cheek. “Hisoka, what?”

The other Hunter didn’t stop to answer him. His eyes narrowed into some undefinable expression, something almost melancholic, before he ran towards the Old God, weapon drawn. Silva was already there, his axe back in hand. Belatedly Chrollo realized he must have thrown it to make the Presence drop him.

He barely tried to watch the battle, his eyes skimming lazily over their figures; swinging, shouting, falling. It didn’t matter, not really. Not when everything else seemed so much brighter inside.

Petals were crushed in his hands. The thing in his stomach was so warm, so comforting. Slowly the sounds of the battle drifted away on the wind. Above him the sky was so peaceful, the moon so very red. With his new eye, he felt he could truly appreciate it now. He brought his fingers up to prod at the fleshy corneas. Every blink sheathed hundreds. Slick and smooth. Like a spider’s.

Something was dripping down his wrist and Chrollo stared at his bleeding hands, deaf to the cries and shouts of the men so far away from him. The air vibrated with the rhythm of the Old Ones. He could hear them calling to him. Greeting him. Chrollo clenched his hands into fists, the silver mess wet and burning on his skin. He blinked and saw the glow of it through fractal eyes. His mouth broke into a mad grin and somewhere far off, he heard familiar voices scream.

Chrollo had found it.

Paleblood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “There is nothing left of him but curiosity and a pair of eyes.”  
> ― Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night 
> 
> so yeah that's the end of this. if any of you are familiar with bloodborne youll understand this familiar sort of discontent. because thats the game. you play the entire thing, get your ending, and youre left wanting. i purposefully made this as open ended as i could to let you all build your own ideas of what happens next, who lives, who dies, and just what change is in chrollo. let me know your thoughts. im really eager to hear what you have to say and any theories you might have.


End file.
